


Never Lost

by Escalus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (maybe), Alternate Universe - Historical, Canonical Character Death, F/M, French Indian War, Ghosts, M/M, Native American Character(s), Nightmares, Past Character Death, Period-Typical Racism, Sceo Scarefest 2019, Spies & Secret Agents, Witches, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-14 02:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escalus/pseuds/Escalus
Summary: Employed by the French military, Theo Raeken is a native scout sent to spy on the English colonies during the French and Indian War.  While on his secret mission, he comes across a sleepy little hamlet of Beacon Hollow, nestled in the Hudson Highlands.   Wrapped in superstition and tragedy, the village is home to Scott McCall, who lives a lonely life on the outskirts of town, exiled by suspicion and keeping a few dark secrets of his own.  Is this a chance meeting or has fate cast its spell?This  story reimagines Teen Wolf during the colonial period, mixing history and fiction, and trying to capture the aesthetic of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow -- with a little inspiration from the 1999 movie of the same name.





	1. A Long Journey

**Author's Note:**

> Allison's death plays a major role in the story. Whether her ghost is real or not is part of the mystery. 
> 
> The story alludes to Cody Christian's and Tyler Posey's real life heritages as a way to honor these actors for bringing these characters to life. As a trigger warning, there are many references to terrible treatment of Native Americans by European settlers and a major plot point is the way individuals of mixed race were treated during that time period. 
> 
> I haven't tried to reproduce languages, opting for clarity over verisimilitude.
> 
> These characters and plots are not owned by me and are being used as an homage to the show.

###### 

** _Love is never lost. If not reciprocated, it will flow back and soften and purify the heart._ **

Washington Irving, author of _The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_

###### 

The path meandered lazily through the forest, obfuscated by curtains of color. Theo could hardly keep his eyes on the twisting trail, given the riot of hues surrounding him. Between the trunks, looming like columns in a ballroom, the slightest wind stirred up a thousand waltzing couples, whirling through the glades as part of a spirit’s cotillion. The dancers from the black walnut trees wore the pale yellow of a baby’s first locks, those from the oak wore the copper of a sergeant’s buttons, and those from the maple wore the shocking red of blood on snow. 

Each step Theo took kicked the fallen leaves up for one last quadrille before they settled for good on the loam. He never imagined himself so easily moved by natural beauty, but the forest on the way to Beacon Hollow seemed to belong to one of those fantastic tales that Sister Madelaine had told him. Was this beauty a plea from angels? Was God hiding behind an old twisted elm, showing off His best artistry in an attempt to keep Theo from his task? 

In an attempt to bring himself back to the necessary steps of his journey, Theo switched his musket from one shoulder to another. The weapon wasn’t even loaded; he was close enough to the truly civilized lands of the Hudson Valley that it was unlikely that an English would shoot him on sight. Thanks to his father, he looked like any other trapper descending from the uplands with pelts for sale. It was the perfect disguise, even though the weighty bundle of beaver, fox, and marten made his back ache some nights. When he came across town folk, and as he headed farther south that had happened more and more often, he had smiled, repeated his made-up story, and went on his way unmolested.

Not one English ever suspected he was a spy.

When the French captain, Sebastian Valet, had called him into his chambers at Fort Carillon two weeks before, Theo had been surprised to find himself alone. There had been no other Penobscot scouts, nor any other scouts for that matter, summoned to the meeting. The only witness was the captain’s creepy friend Marcel, who had lurked in the background for the entire conversation. 

“I have a task for you, my friend,” Captain Valet began, without preamble, from his chair. Before him had lain a map of the lands of New France and the English colony of New York. 

They had never been friends, but the French always talked that way. They relied heavily on Theo’s tribe as part of the Wabanaki Confederacy, and so they were far more polite to what they obviously considered savages than the English, though that politeness seldom translated into sincerity. Theo had often been warned by his grandfather that it was wise to hate the English, but it was wiser to never trust the French. 

Theo had only nodded in acknowledgment. Technically, Valet was a superior officer.

“We have been very successful with this year’s campaign.” Valet got up and poured himself a glass of wine, offering none to Theo. “It would be a waste if we failed to press the advantage next year. When spring comes, I want our alliance to be able to drive the English to the very gates of what used to be New Amsterdam. To do that, better intelligence must be had, so I have a mind for you to do some reconnaissance for us.”

“Why me?” Theo asked, as innocently as he could fake. He had learned that pretending to be ignorant often made people underestimate him. He had a pretty good idea about why he had been chosen, and the thought had made him slightly queasy. 

“I asked your chiefs who would be best suited for this task, and your name was immediately suggested. After a little investigation, I have to agree. Thanks to your father, you look English. Also thanks to your father, you speak English very well. I personally know that you can read and write. So when your leaders reminded me of your … disposition, I knew I had found my agent.”

“My disposition?”

“From all reports, you are skilled in woodcraft; you never get lost. It’s been noticed that you have a glib tongue and a not so inconsiderable skill at subterfuge and treachery. Marcel, what did the Penobscot commander call him?”

“Molsem.” The captain’s friend barely looked up from his book. 

“Yes, that was the term.” 

Theo hadn’t been able to keep the gritted-teeth frown from appearing on his face. Valet had smiled at him, condescendingly, while a bored Marcel had flipped a page in his scientific text.

“Have I offended you? What does that word mean, pray tell?”

Theo had bitten his tongue to keep from snapping; he had been absolutely sure the Frenchman already knew what it meant. “It’s from my people’s stories. It’s an evil wolf.” 

“Ah, yes. The untrustworthy brother of Gluscabi, the hero who taught your people civilization while protecting them. It must sting to be referred to like that, but cruelty to half-breeds tends to be a universal trait, doesn’t it? Here is a thought that may comfort you. The weak tend to give nicknames to those who make them afraid, in an attempt to rob them of their power, so perhaps you should consider the moniker a sign of strength. I’m _quite_ aware of what they call me.”

Captain Valet was known and feared among his own men and his native allies alike for his inordinate love of bloodshed. The sheer pleasure he took in the deaths of the English and their native allies, whether man, woman, or child, often caused hardened soldiers to shudder in the barracks. In whispered tones, they all referred to Valet as the Beast. 

“For this mission, I will equip you with trade goods and a generous bag of gold. You’ll travel south along the major roads to the city of New York. You can tell anyone who asks along the way that you’re planning to get the best price for your furs in the city. That means you’ll be able to act, for the most part, like any other traveler. All the while, you will listen and you will watch for soldiers, their officers, their supply lines, or anything else that might help us in the months of war to come. After you sell the pelts in the city, then you will return the same way and make your report.”

“I’m afraid that I may not be able to remember everything I learn.”

“You’ll record it in a journal with a code that Marcel will teach you.” He gestured with a negligent toss of his toward his strange friend. “You may take your time, but be back here before the end of November.”

Looking into the Frenchman’s eyes, Theo had hesitated. He could have demanded something more for his work, but there really hadn’t been any point. The twist of Valet’s lip told him that the captain was already aware of that fact that Theo had no place else to go. He wasn’t an official member of the French forces, and he had never truly been part of his tribe. He was an outsider who didn’t belong, and there was no point in declining.

So, he had reluctantly said yes. He had made his farewells to the few people that would care. He had thought about visiting his mother, but she had remained in the Penobscot lands far to the east, and it would take almost as long to get there as it would be go south. She could not read, so there was no use in sending a letter. She would understand though. She had always understood why he felt alone even when he had been in the middle of their people. 

The first few days of the journey had been filled with tension and anxiety. He had stayed off the main paths, instead following only the roughest of game trails. He had slept in thickets, without a fire, and he didn’t stop until after dusk and rose well before dawn. That close to the English forts, he might be detained on principle, and if they figured out that he was actually a member of one of the tribes which had allied with the French, he would be hanged.

Eventually, however, he made it deep enough into English territory that while he might be looked at askance by suspicious settlers, the first thought of the farmers and peddlers he met on the road wouldn’t be that he was a marauding Frenchman. He had his father’s blue eyes, his brown hair, and his paler skin, so he wouldn’t be seen as a hostile native. The buckskin frock he wore, along with the bundle of beaver pelts on his back, would mark him as simply another trapper. 

The road of the New York Colony became less dangerous, but Theo couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation. Everyone was busy with the last of the harvest and the approach of winter. No one questioned a trapper using gold to stay at inns; no one noticed he paid special attention where he soldiers were quartered or how he followed them discretely. The truth to be told, it was depressingly easy to gain the intelligence his masters wanted. No one cared about a solitary stranger in the middle of the wilderness.

Earlier that morning, he had watched a column of soldiers get ready to move out from the window of an inn in a relatively large village. In order not to look too interested, he had started up a conversation with a fat miller. Luckily, the man had been a pompous windbag, and he had clearly enjoyed having a new audience to harangue, though he never thought to ask after Theo in any way. His self-absorption was convenient, for Theo was able to carefully watch the soldiers as long as the miller kept talking. 

“Poor lads,” remarked the miller, condescendingly, after following Theo’s glance.

“What do you mean? They’re heading south, away from all the fighting.”

“True, but they’re part of Major Parrish’s detachment, heading to their winter camp.” The miller shook his head. “If I were them, I’d rather go back north and stay there.”

“This winter is going to be harsh, not to mention that the North is filled with the French and their Indians.” Theo made sure that his voice carried the right note of disbelief.

“Ahh, but they’ve been quartered in Beacon Hollow.” 

“I’ve never heard of it. What’s wrong?”

“It’s odd.” The miller sounded as if this should have been sufficient explanation. The rich man grabbed his thumbs with an exaggerated gesture to ward off evil. “And the people who live there are even more odd.” 

Theo watched the last of the soldiers depart. “Is this oddness why there are soldiers going there?”

“I can’t rightly tell you the reason for that decision, but I do know that all wise folk avoid that place. No should go looking for that type of trouble.”

“What type of trouble?”

“Ghosts. Goblins. Witches.”

The village itself was suddenly far less interesting; the man was obviously a pompous fool. Theo didn’t believe in anything he couldn’t see, touch, or taste. He hadn’t believed the stories of the shamans of his mother’s tribe when they spoke of the world of the invisible. He hadn’t believed the nuns of his Canadian school who had taught him about God and the angels. If he hadn’t believed them, why would he believe vague stories from a fat burger that were better used to frighten children into going to bed.

He wouldn’t have wanted to show that on his face, but a sign of disbelief must have appeared, for the miller was offended.

“Now, you’re a young person, so you haven’t seen all that I’ve seen!” The man protested, haughtily. “I could tell tales of that place that would make your blood run cold. Ghosts luring people to their deaths. Talking animals! Strange foreign witches. They even have a black doctor!” 

Theo bit his tongue. “You don’t say.”

“I do say! I saw that with my own eyes.” He shook his head. “I know that the daughter of a prominent family died there under mysterious circumstances. The magistrate couldn’t find anything amiss.” The miller was full of high dudgeon. “But everyone knows she had been enchanted by a witch.” 

“Enchanted by a witch.” Theo repeated slowly. “That sounds like a good story.”

The miller needed no further encouragement. Theo did his best to pretend to be interested, but he was far more interested in speculating why the English would put troops there. While he thought about it, the miller droned on about a dark-skinned witch who had enchanted the fair daughter of a prominent family. He had led her deep into the woods with his familiars and spells in order to marry her. Only her untimely death had freed her from his clutches. 

After the story, Theo thanked the man politely and went on his way. There had to be something more to the village than witches and bogeymen. He retrieved his pack and musket and started south soon after, not at too great a pace, as he didn’t want to be spotted by the marching column. That pace would mean he would probably reach the village after nightfall.

“Oh, I hope the goblins don’t get me!” Theo had said out loud to the empty countryside and then laughed at his own joke. 

The road south began to steadily climb, leading to highlands beside the river named after Henry Hudson. The path became twisty as it navigated the low rounded mountains. Beacon Hollow lay in a hidden valley in those mountains, and the sun would be choked off so very early. 

The highlands were breathtakingly beautiful and not the least bit sinister, at least during the day. He saw nothing unnatural, from the trees in their glorious fall colors, to the sloping lanes, to the piling clouds in the cool sky brushing the tops of the mountains. The miller’s story was obvious the product of a provincial mind and too much drink.

Then he turned the corner and there was a cat, staring at Theo like it had been waiting for him to appear. The path had been widening into something that might one day become a proper road; Theo had believe this meant the village was near, so he quickened his gait. He was a bit reluctant for the day to end, but he didn’t want to arrive at the village after nightfall — it might draw attention. On the side of the road, he had marked a stone wall rising to his right; he just hadn’t been prepared for its occupant.

It wasn’t much of a wall; a series of loose flat stones had been not-so-carefully piled upon each other. In the distance beyond it and off the road there was some sort of cottage; Theo could smell the faintest smoke from a burning hearth. He could see a slight gleam of lamplight, almost drowned in the gathering dusk. 

The black cat perched on the wall, however, loomed large and unmistakable. Regal, it sat on the very northern tip of the wall, staring at him as he stared at it. Its tail stood erect, with the just the tip curled down. It was pure black, like a piece of the night sky given four legs, and its eyes, catching the setting sun, glowed a baleful yellow. 

“Well, hello,” Theo greeted it in Abenaki, “Aren’t you a fine looking fellow?” 

The cat meowed at him, as if it were answering his question. It wasn’t of course, Theo told himself. It was just an animal. He turned to keep walking along the path, only to glance over and see the cat keeping pace with him along the top of the wall. 

Theo stopped, and the cat stopped as soon as he did. It unnerved him a bit as its unnaturally large eyes. He swallowed a thrill of fear and it lodged itself in his belly.

“Do you want something?” Theo chuckled at idea of talking to a cat like it was a nosy farmer. It was ridiculous to be unsettled by a pet.

It meowed again, and its tail swept back and forth. Theo got the feeling it was growing irritated with him. Theo licked his lips, reevaluating the burger’s reliability; this was odd. The cat continued to watch him expectantly. 

“This is so strange. I don’t have any food for you, kitten.”

The cat regarded him with the same disapproving, baleful stare. Maybe there were goblins who could take other shapes. 

Theo leaned down and forward so he was at the same height as the animal. He was fascinated by its behavior, even as he felt a little embarrassed to be so intrigued. “Do you want me to follow you?”

As if it understood what he understood, the cat suddenly turned away and jumped off into the pile of leaves behind the wall, disappearing silently. In a moment, it emerged from the other end of the pile, looking back up to see if Theo was as good as his word. 

Curiosity overwhelmed his disquiet. He would never reach the village before nightfall if he dallied, but it would probably be fine as long as he didn’t make an appearance closer to midnight than to sunset. His whimsy won out, and he leaped over the low wall, which wasn’t particularly easy with the awkward bundle of furs on his back, so he could start following the cat. It trotted along, pleased at being obeyed, up a slight rise in the ground and down the other side.

The rise formed the lip of a bowl-shaped, far too shallow and too small to be called a valley. At its bottom, fed by a lazy stream, a greenish-gray pond filled with moss colored rocks shone like a mirror with a pitted surface in the day’s last beams. Brilliant leaves similar to those that had been his companions along the way floated on its surface. They had been brought there by a gentle breeze that wafted down from the summit of the mountain to the east. A small stone cottage abutted the pond; there were only four paces between its door and the water’s edge. The thinnest wisp of smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the smell of someone’s supper. 

Beyond the cottage stood a long stable, carefully set up against the side of the mountain, taking advantage of the natural terrain to be out of the wind and the rain. Wooden gates penned animals in and would keep predators, such as wolves, out. 

The black cat sauntered across the yard and up to the stoop of the cottage, as if it were the cottage’s rightful owner. Now that Theo had followed it away from the path, it paid him no more mind. 

Theo brought his musket down off his shoulder, resting the butt on the ground. He felt a little foolish having followed a cat, even though this place looked cordial. “Well, I’m here. What now?”

The cat pretended it couldn’t hear him. 

“Hello?” A voice called out. Theo looked up to see a man about his age coming around the far side of the stables, pitchfork in one hand. Sweat plastered his dark brown hair to his forehead and his shirt was open in the front even in the cool breeze; he’d obviously been mucking out the stalls. 

“Good evening.” Theo raised his hand in greeting, remembering all his lessons in decorum. “I’m sorry to intrude.”

The man smiled, more openly than any person Theo had met during his entire journey. That smile was, in its own way, almost as odd as the inquisitive cat. While no one would describe this basin as part of the deep wilderness, the cottage must still have been a good distance from its nearest neighbor. Theo could have been a burglar. He could have meant to do violence to anyone living at this college. Ironically, Theo did mean to do harm, in a way, as a French spy and a marauding Indian. Yet the man’s warm regard was genuine, the grin perched on the man’s slightly crooked jaw radiating warmth like a camp fire on a frigid night.

“No need to be sorry, neighbor,” said the villager. His skin was darker than the other colonists throughout the province, though he didn’t seem to be a member of any tribe that Theo recognized. He also wasn’t completely naive, because while his posture was free of wariness and his tone was friendly enough, he didn’t put down the pitchfork. “I appreciate visitors, as I usually don’t get many. May I help you? Did you want to see me for some reason?”

“You see, there was this cat …”

“Roxie!” He scolded the cat, who ignored the reprimand completely. “I’m very sorry. She likes luring travelers to their doom.” 

Theo blinked twice.

The man blushed. “Oh, forgive me. That’s a stupid joke my best friend makes all the time, and I repeated it without thinking. I’m Scott McCall.” He crossed the yard, one hand still curled around the pitchfork but his other was extended in welcome.

Theo stared at the open hand for a second before taking it. It wouldn’t do to be rude. “Theo Raeken.”

“I haven’t seen you around here before. You’re new to Beacon Hollow?”

“Oh, passing through.” Theo gestured to the pelts on his back, repeating the same story he had told everyone. “I’m taking these down to the city so I can fetch a better price.” 

“That seems like a good idea.” Scott’s attention drifted to the beaver pelts and a little sadness appeared at the corner of his eyes. He shook it off and pulled himself back to his visitor’s face. “Where are you from?” 

Theo opened his mouth to lie smoothly but the life, for the first time ever, caught in his through. He coughed and then started again. “Cornwall County.” 

“That far?” Scott’s mouth dropped open. “You must have been traveling for weeks!”

“I’m used to it,” Theo said, taken aback by the earnestness of the statement. “It’s my profession, after all.”

“Still, that’s a long time to be in strange lands. Have you eaten?”

“What?”

“Have you eaten your evening meal?”

Theo shook his head. “I’m sure there’s a tavern in the village …”

“There is, but why don’t you sup with me tonight? You’re here at a convenient time; the stew should almost be ready.”

“I couldn’t possibly ...”

Scott laughed at him, but it was a laugh devoid of any other meaning. It was one of pure merriment. “You’d be doing me a favor. I always make far too much food for myself and my kitty here. To be honest, I’d hate to think of you having a meal alone on your first night in our town. Come.” He opened the front door to his home and Roxie rushed inside with the air of someone who had been frustrated with all the waiting. 

Theo should have refused. He didn’t know this man who had invited him into his home, this man who seemed not the least bit suspicious of him. 

“You’re an odd one, my friend. I’m a filthy traveler with a gun. Do you usually ask strangers to dinner?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” Scott chuckled. “I don’t have anything worth stealing, after all. But you do make a good point.”

Theo nodded in agreement. The world was dangerous.

“We’re both pretty dirty. Would you do me a favor?” The man reached inside and pulled out a big wooden bucket. “There’s a well just behind the last stall on the south side. We’ll clean up before dinner. While you’re doing that, I’ll get the meal ready.”

The found himself setting his musket up against the cottage and sliding the pack of furs to the ground. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, and the words of the miller came back to him. This hadn’t been part of his plan. He was here to ferret out military secrets, not make friends. On the other hand, he had just met an overly friendly settler; there was no reason to believe he was under any sort of compulsion, that Scott was anything more than a lonely man or that his cat was anything more than a cat. 

Getting to the well was easy, exactly where it had been told him. The sun was half-gone, burrowing into the mountains across the not-so-distant Hudson. Soon Scott’s secret glade would be lost in shadow and the road to Beacon Hollow was already obscured by dusk. There would be frost tonight and a full moon.

As he carried the bucket back to the cottage, he flashed back to a memory of when he was a very little boy, carrying water from the stream to his mother’s wigwom. He had begged her for a chore like his sister had, and he had done it every night, even though the bucket had been too heavy for his tiny body. It was during the time before he had met his father and before he had truly been aware of how different he was from the other children. He had been happy. He had been home. 

With the breeze at his back, he hurried to bring the water back to the small stone cottage under the setting sun and the rising moon. Theo was smiling. 

Maybe he _had_ fallen under a spell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Penobscot elders believe that the story of Molsem, the brother of their culture hero, Gluscabi, was the result of European immigrant scholars merging several myths. The story fits very well into the characters and themes, and since there is no consensus, I decided to employ it while acknowledging that it may be a bastardization of Penobscot culture.
> 
> _Wigwom_ more accurately signifies the word in Abenaki, the language of the Penobscot.


	2. A Dinner Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for disturbing imagery.

When Theo reached the cottage, he rapped on the door with his free hand. The door sounded solid, heavy oak bound with stout iron. It would take a determined man armed with an axe to force their way inside. Carefully painted on the door was an eight point star, made up of alternating panels of silver and red. Theo touched the symbol, wondering what it meant.

“Door’s open!” 

The inside of the cottage was cramped, all the different things a house had to do jumbled up against each other in one small space. It was lit only by two candles, the hearth fire, and three small windows. The windows seemed to be cobbled together from pieces of broken glass, some clear and some blue, creating odd patterns on the floor. His musket and furs had been set carefully right inside the door. They had to be; there wasn’t enough space anywhere else. Only a couple could live in this cottage together comfortably. The walls were piles of heavy stone, carefully mortared with local clay. The doorway sat in the middle of the west wall, directly opposite the squat and rounded hearth. A large pot boiled above the fire and from it came the mouth-watering aroma Theo had caught a wisp of from the road. The north wall was covered with hostler tools carefully hung on the wall and baskets which probably contained husbandry supplies. Against the south wall stood a rough-hewn chest of drawers, a beaten-up old wardrobe, and a shelf with only a few books. A table occupied the middle of the room, surrounded by four chairs; three of the chairs seemed to be used more for makeshift storage, festooned with clothes, tools, and, on one, a cutting board with a knife stuck in it.

What drew Theo’s eye the most was a magnificent bed taking up most of the southeast corner of cottage, far larger than necessary for one person and far more expensive than any of the other furnishings and probably all of them put together. Theo had only seen any furniture like that the one time his father had taken him to Montreal. The posts, the rails, and the headboard of the bed were all intricately carved and varnished a shining black. Four silk pillows matched an embroidered counterpane, which depicted women with spears and bows hunting down wolves. The center of the headboard bore a magnificent fleur de lis plated with silver. 

“You’re welcome to go first.” Scott’s voice drew his attention back to the table in the middle of the room, where he was pouring the well water into a basin on the table. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“You should clean yourself up first. I’ll see to dinner.” 

Theo turned away from his host to where his things lay. As he shed his traveling gear and placed it carefully on his bundle of furs, he couldn’t shake a spike of anxiety that surged through him. As much as the cottage and its inhabitant seemed innocent enough, he was still deep into enemy territory. He should be on his guard, and that meant he should be watching his host with wary eyes. After all, it had only been two years ago that the British had placed a bounty on Penobscot scalps, and Scott looked poor enough for it to be a temptation. Yet, Theo felt oddly relaxed, more bashful than afraid.

He took a breath to steady himself, drinking in the scent of whatever was in the cauldron Scott was stirring and turned back to the table. He pulled the buckskin frock up over his head and then his linen shirt immediately after. The cottage was cooler than he expected, because his bare skin prickled with the sudden chill. The water in the basin was even more shockingly cold, so much that it drew an exclamation from Theo’s lips. He tried to chuckle at his weakness; he told himself he had been staying in inns on Valet’s money for so long that he could be excused for getting soft. He grabbed a rough towel that he didn’t remember his having laid out for him.

As he toweled off, he caught Scott watching him out of the corner of his eye. Their eyes met, and Scott dropped his eyes immediately went back to stirring the stew. Theo wondered if Scott had been staring at him.

“Your turn.” 

Theo slowly redressed himself, and while he was, he never pretended to not be watching Scott as his host pulled off his shirt. Scott must have done most of the labor around his home, as his body was lithe and muscular. Theo noticed the scar of an arrow wound on Scott’s right arm. After his host was finished with the water, Theo volunteered to dump the basin outside the front door. 

When that task was done, Scott placed bowls on the table for both of them. He then picked the extra clothes off another chair and tossed them to the side of the room to make a space for himself. 

“Stew’s ready.” 

“It smells good.” Theo didn’t have to lie about that. He could feel his stomach rumble with sudden hunger. “You’re very--”

“Do you pray?” Scott asked, waving off Theo’s thanks once again.

“I …” Theo hesitated because while he did not, he didn’t want to seem rude or heathen. 

“It’s fine if you do not. I do, however, so if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Not at all.”

His host bowed his head and spoke something that sounded like a prayer in a language Theo didn’t recognize. Theo didn’t lower his head, but he kept his silence. Scott invested the phrases he repeated with sincerity; he was truly a believer. He lifted his head after he was done and caught Theo’s gaze. 

“Thank you for the indulgence.”

“It’s your home; I’m a guest here.”

Scott took a loaf of bread and a knife in lieu of answer, cut it and offered a slice to Theo. “This is in case my cooking isn’t as good as I think it is.”

“What language was that?”

“Spanish.”

Theo wasn’t sure that was true. He had read about Spain and its colonies, so he knew that Spanish was a romance language the same as French. But he had never heard it spoken, because he had never met a Spaniard before. He said as much.

“I’m not Spanish. I’m Mexican.”

“Forgive me.” Theo reacted immediately to the slight amount of venom in Scott’s voice. “But I read that Mexico was part of New Spain.”

Scott took a bit of stew and chewed the meat before answering. “I don’t consider myself a Spaniard. I’ve never been to Spain. Most of my family have never been to Spain. My surname isn’t even Spanish.”

“Not that I’d know what a Spanish name would sound like, but McCall sounds English.” 

They ate in the silence for a good few minutes. Scott seemed to be torn between talking about things he didn’t want to talk about and being a good host.

“It’s Scottish. It’s my paternal grandfather’s name. My paternal grandmother was Zacatecos; they’re a tribe in Mexico. My maternal grandfather was Spanish, and my maternal grandmother was also Zacatecos. That’s how my mother and father met; my grandmothers were childhood friends.”

“So how’d you end all the way up here?”

Scott’s brow darkened as he stirred the bowl in front of him with a spoon.

“You don’t have to answer. I don’t mean to pry.”

“No, I brought it up. My father had been a sailor but after he married my mother he worked for the Spanish crown as an official at the port of Veracruz. When I was two, my father’s uncle, who worked for the Admiralty, contacted him and offered him a captaincy in the British navy.”

Theo filled in the blanks without saying anything, but his mind was already remember the lessons his father had taught him. It was obvious the English wanted information on Veracruz’s defenses. It was a good tactical move.

“My father,” Scott sighed, hesitated, and began once more. “My father said yes, so we couldn’t live in Mexico anymore.”

“Why didn’t you go to England?” 

Scott gritted his teeth but he didn’t seem to be angry at Theo. “My grandfather’s family believed that it wouldn’t be seemly if it had become known that a member of their family had married a … native. My father doesn’t look like he’s of his people, so he can lie … I mean, he doesn’t talk about it. The family had some land here in Beacon Hollow, so they had us move here instead.” 

Theo’s spoon hovered in mid-air between his mouth and his plate. He almost said something that he knew how the other man felt, but he couldn’t tell Scott he understood without revealing things he shouldn’t reveal.

After a while, Theo broke the silence that had fallen once more. “So your mother and father live down in town?”

“No. Mother had to go back home to take care of our grandparents; they’re getting older.” Scott sounded distant and slightly angry. “Father’s on a ship somewhere.”

“You didn’t go with her back to Mexico?”

“There were things that bound me here. I couldn’t leave.”

“So.” Theo prided himself on his skill with words, but the next sentence slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. “You’re all alone.” 

The moment froze as the words hung there. Finally, nodding around a spoonful of stew, Scott refused to look Theo in the face. After he finally swallowed, he tried to change the subject. “And what about you? Where’s your family?” 

From one awkward moment to another, Theo scrambled to find a reason to avoid that question. He found himself unwilling to tell the story he had concocted when he had first set out on his trip. He was finding himself more and more unwilling, as the night progressed, to lie at all. “Is this rabbit stew?” Theo asked, even though he damn well knew that it was.

“Yes, it is.” Scott stared at him. His eyes were deep brown. They weren’t sharp or penetrating. They didn’t flay Theo’s soul with accusations. They were gentle pools that drew him into them. Scott was going to let the subject drop. 

Theo startled, shaking himself free from those eyes. “Hunted them yourself?”

“Oh, no. I don’t like hunting.”

“But you’ll eat them?” Theo joked. 

“It’s different once they’re already dead and skinned,” Scott protested. “Though I can hunt, and I will hunt if I have to, I usually don’t have to. Every few days, I walk down to the village and I pick up meat that no longer looks like the animals I care for.” 

“That’s the reason your stable is larger than your house. You take care of animals for the village.”

“When I was twelve I was apprenticed to Dr. Deaton. He taught me everything I needed to know about taking care of horses and dogs and all sorts. What he didn’t teach me, I get from those books.” He gestured at the shelf on the west wall. “I must be pretty good at it, because I haven’t starved yet.”

“Your father didn’t want you to be a sailor like him?”

Scott’s face and voice fell. “No, I don’t think he was interested in me joining him, and I really didn’t want to join him either.” 

Theo flinched; he couldn’t help it. He could recognize the feelings behind Scott’s words, and he didn’t have to strain to understand from where they had come. Scott’s antipathy for his father couldn’t be too different from how Theo had eventually come to feel about his own father. It sounded like the elder McCall had essentially abandoned his family for an opportunity to be secure a prestigious position. Theo couldn’t help but regret that his father had not done the same. He gripped his spoon tightly to drive those thoughts out of his head. He should be grateful for all the opportunities his father had given him, but he wasn’t. He wished he had never met him, and that was a terrible thing for a son to think about his father.

He was aware that Scott was staring at him again, though Scott quickly dropped his eyes when Theo turned back to him. Finally, Theo used the bread to sop up the last of the stew, wiping the bowl almost clean. “That was very good.”

“Well, it’s the one dish I know how to do well, though I’m sure you’ve had better rabbit.”

“Maybe, I have. Maybe it’s the company.”

Scott beamed at him, and then, without preamble, he stood up to clear away the table. “I imagine that trapping tends to be a pretty lonely profession. You spend your days all by yourself out in the wilderness.”

“I see more people than you might think. To find the best furs, and to make sure that there furs for year to come, you have to travel pretty often over a pretty wide area. There are farmers and villagers and natives that I know and meet.” It was not completely a lie. Both his father and his grandfather had taught him about trapping. “I wander a pretty big area. Though, yes, I do guess that you see more people than I do.”

Scott began to use the rest of the well water to clean the bowls and the silverware. “You’d be surprised.”

Theo almost hadn’t heard the words, so low they had been. “I can’t imagine that you don’t have a number of close friends in Beacon Hollow.”

His host chuckled, but Scott didn’t turn to look at him.

“You welcomed a complete stranger into your home and fed them, and I have to say, I don’t think I’ve met a kinder person on the road here. How could they not?”

“People in small towns like this, they enjoy a bit of gossip to liven up their lives. Sometimes rumors get started and they slowly turn into the only truth anyone wants to hear.” Scott put the bowls and the silverware on the mantle above the fireplace. 

“Oh.” Theo shifted uneasily in his chair, torn between two competing wants. He didn’t want to anger Scott, but he was extremely curious about what would make someone like Scott a pariah. “Do they suspect you have native blood?”

“No. Only my friend Stiles knows that I’m half Zacatecos. It’s not anything reasonable like that. Do you really want to know?” 

Theo laughed, thinly. He could see the discomfort on Scott’s face, but he really wanted to know. “No. Yeah. I’m sorry, but it’s … strange you know. Since I’m going to spending some time in Beacon Hollow, I think I should.”

“They think I’m a witch.”

Roxie suddenly jumped to the top of the mantle, nearly knocking a bowl off. She yowled at them, and Scott scratched her under the chin.

The concept sounded ridiculous when Theo first heard it, but, after a moment, he couldn’t deny that there were signs. Scott was — to use the miller’s phrase — odd. Unfailingly kind, yet he sometimes radiated hidden pain and sometimes even hostility. Theo had also accepted his invitation with little resistance.

“Well, that’s foolish and there’s no excuse for it.” Theo said automatically. Theo couldn’t help remembering the story of the woman carried away by a dark-skinned, foreign witch. He couldn’t help remembering how he had felt comfortable here even after just arriving. “I’ve spent a little over an hour with you, and I can tell you are a good person, even if you are a witch.”

Scott burst out laughing at the thought.

“I’m not ruling it out.” Theo felt the need to be charming. “You have a black cat.” 

“She found me!” Scott protested. 

“My friend, if you are a witch, I feel a desperate need to find more of them. Now, sit down and tell me about the fools who populate this town.”

So they sat and they talked. Scott told him of growing up first in the shadow of the Sierra Madre Occidental. He talked about how much taller those mountains were than the Hudson Highlands. He had laughed when people told him that Mount Beacon, beneath which Beacon Hollow nestled, was the tallest mountain within hundreds of miles. He told him how amazing seeing the Hudson River had been — most of the rivers where he had lived in Mexico only flowed after rainstorms. It rained so much here in the colony of New York as compared to where he had been born.

“I was so very young. Some days I thought the rain would never stop, and that we would all be washed away.” 

Theo laughed. He could imagine how disoriented Scott had felt. When his father had first taken him to the cities of New France -- Montreal, Quebec City and Trois-Rivieres — he thought his eyes would fall out of his head at the sheer number of people living in one place. He had been struck silent in gaping wonder at how they dressed and how they spoke and how they acted, though he had learned quickly under the strict tutelage of the nuns that this was how _civilized_ people lived.

Then Scott talked about moving to the village of Beacon Hollow. He had been able to speak English, but not well, which had made school difficult for him. He had had weak lungs, and while they were better now only giving him trouble during the depths of winter, as a child he could not play as hard with the other boys. He would have remained friendless if it weren’t for Mieczyslaw Stilinski, whose great grandfather had helped found the town after emigrating from the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth.

“Founded in the same year as the great John III Sobieski died!” Scott flailed, mimicking his friend. “He would always say it exactly like that!”

They both laughed.

“Your friend sounds like a wonderful person.”

“He is. You’ll probably get to meet him.” Scott nodded. “Especially if you’re going to town. I daresay you won’t hardly be able to miss him, and if you do, he’ll not miss you.”

“He pays attention to travelers like me?”

“He pays attention to everyone.” Scott’s voice was filled with fondness. “He paid attention to me, and for that I’ll always be grateful.”

Scott went on to talk about apprenticing Dr. Deaton, who was a freedman and the town’s doctor. Scott had figured out while apprenticed to Dr. Deaton that human medicine was not for him, and he had focused on husbandry. He had been worried that he hadn’t been smart enough for the rigorous training to become a doctor, even though Stiles and Dr. Deaton had insisted that he had been.

Theo told less than he could have and more than he should have. No matter how open Scott had been with him about his upbringing, he could not tell the other man that he, too, was a native without mentioning his tribe, so he focused on his life away from the Penobscot. But he still talked about visiting cities that any person who had been there would recognize as belong to the French, and going to school and learning how to read and write. 

It Scott had been a suspicious person, he would have asked more pointed questions, but Scott simply wasn’t. He obviously wanted Theo to feel at home, so all Theo had to do was act uncomfortable about a particular line of conversation, and Scott would change the topic. 

The candles burned low. The hearth fire became glowing coals. Theo yawned as Scott started feeding more wood to the fire, stoking it carefully. 

“It is late.” 

“Don’t worry about it, I have some candles here.” Scott said, digging into a box on the mantle. 

“I’ve abused your hospitality, and I shouldn’t impose on you more. I should get going.”

Scott turned around with a pair of candles in his hand. He looked … hurt. “The sun’s been down for hours, and the road out there is … dangerous after dark. You could stay. You should stay.”

“The road’s dangerous?”

“Well, you could trip over something and get hurt and no one would find you until it was too late.” Scott had decided to try to charm him with some wit. “I’d be a terrible person to make you go out in a night like this.”

Theo felt the corners of his lips curl into the beginnings of a smile. “You don’t really get many visitors out here, do you?”

“No.” Scott reach out one hand and for a moment, he thought that Scott was going to touch him, but he just put it flat on the table. “But that’s not my point. There is really no reason you can’t sleep here and go into town tomorrow morning.” 

“No reason? I met you a few hours ago.”

“It’s not an imposition. I want you to stay?” Scott hesitated, as if offering something precious. “You can take the bed.” 

“And where would you sleep?”

“I can make do.” 

“If anyone should make do, it should be me. I’m used to sleeping outside, after all, under the stars, and your floor will be much better than a patch of cold ground under a tree. I insist.”

For a moment, sadness passed over Scott’s face. Theo was amazed; he didn’t think he had made that good of an impression. Scott suddenly smiled. “It’s a big bed. We’ll share it.”

Theo wondered if Scott had some sinister motive before the truth made itself apparent. Scott didn’t want to be alone this blustery October night. And, if Theo was being honest with himself, neither did he. 

“Fine.”

**~*~**

_This forest had no leaves, just dead black trees scraping the sky with skeletal arms. This forest was filled with a dense fog. Theo ran along the cold grown, the moccasins having long stopped from getting his feet chilled. _

_He should go back home soon. Mother didn’t like it when he went too far away. She would send Tara after him, and he would get a scolding. But one of the other kids had asked him to play with them, and Theo had so much wanted to go. He didn’t know what they were going to play, but it didn’t matter, as long as he got to play. It wasn’t that the other children were mean. He was just different than they were. He had blue eyes and light brown hair and his skin was a different color. They had fathers that were around all the time, and his was gone. _

_They were up ahead, in the fog. He could see them standing between the trees, moving slightly as if they were playing a game. Theo wanted to play to, but he had to get to them first, but he came to the bank of a wide creek. The waters were brown and rushing and even colder than the ground. They children were on the other side, but he couldn’t see how to get across. _

_“Theo.” It was his sister’s voice. _

_“No, Tara, I want to play.”_

_“Theo. It’s time to come home.”_

_Theo stood, shivering on the bank of the creek, but he was stubborn and he crossed his arms. “No.”_

_“They won’t play with you.” Tara was next to him, her eyes sad. _

_“Why?”_

_“Because you’re different than they are.” _

_“I could be the same!” Theo protested in his little boy voice._

_“No, Theo. You’re different.”_

_Theo pouted._

_“That’s right.” His father came out of the fog, twelve feet tall. “You are different. You are special. You don’t want to live in the mud like a savage, do you?”_

_Tara stood in front of Theo. “You don’t belong here!” Theo peeked out behind her legs. His father was so big._

_“He’s my son and as my son and he will be what I tell him he will be. He will go to school and learn to lie and learn to kill like all good Englishmen do.”_

_Theo was afraid. He had wanted to see his father, but now he was afraid. He clung to Tara. _

_His father reached out an enormous hand and pushed his sister into the creek. _

_“Tara!” Theo shouted._

_“Come with me,” said his father, sternly. “She was weak. Your mother was weak. My people will come and destroy all the weak people like them. But you are my son. You can be strong. You can be powerful. But you have to leave here now.” _

_Theo turned to watch the current taking Tara away. Soon she was lost in the fog._

_“See? Already you’re stronger!” Theo looked up at his father. “And you know what comes next, don’t you?” _

_“No,” Theo whispered. _

_“You know what comes next.” His father’s hair was pulling itself off his scalp and blood ran down his face, even as his father continued to talk. “You know what comes next. You know what comes next.”_

**~*~**

“No!” Theo sat up straight, breathing hard, panicking and lost in the middle of the dark. He didn’t know where he was; he wasn’t safe. It took him five breaths to realize he was in a bed — a huge bed and very soft. It took him the five more breaths to remember where he was.

Scott held him gently by the arm. “Are you well?” 

“Yes.” He tried to calm his heart as it was beating like a bird trapped in quicklime. “Yes.”

“You had a nightmare.” Scott didn’t sound surprised. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“It was … it was nothing.” Theo hadn’t had a nightmare like that for months. With a sinking sensation, he realized that his shout upon awakening had been in Abenaki. Had the words he had unconsciously uttered also been in his native language?

“Are you sure you’re well?” His host asked in the dark. Theo could sense his presence, though he couldn’t see him. Scott’s concern was calming but only a little. 

Theo nodded and murmured an apology for waking him. Of course, Scott doesn’t respond, and Theo can eventually start to drift back off to sleep. He told himself he’d go to town tomorrow, after he finds out if he Scott suspect his true identity. He would get everything back under control.

As his consciousness slowly flickered in and out, he though he heard Scott speaking. It wasn’t to Theo; Scott’s back was turned to him. 

“Leave him alone,” Scott begged. “Leave him alone, please?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to include a possible cultural connection for Stiles as well.
> 
> In 1755, Spencer Phips of the Massachusetts Colony placed a bounty for the scalps of Penobscot men (50 pounds), women (25 pounds), male children (25 pounds), and female children (20 pounds). So many were collected that the Massachusetts Assembly had to raise the maximum a person could collect to 300 pounds in 1756.


	3. Beacon Hollow

A square of light had worked its way across the embroidered coverlet and come to rest on Theo’s face, stirring him to irritated wakefulness. If he had dreamed again, he did not remember it. Theo rubbed his eyes and stretched, shaking off the drowsy shackles of a deep sleep. When he rolled over, he realized he was alone in the bed. The side where Scott had slept was empty, and, very strangely, the bed had been made as much as it could be with Theo still in it. 

Theo studied that part of the bed. He slid a hand out and felt the sheets, looking to see if he could still find the heat of Scott’s body. He did it instinctively, and it was disturbing to him. He thought once again that he might have been ensorcelled.

He forced himself to rise and clean himself. Scott had obviously brought in more water from the well. With increasing disquiet, he dressed himself. With unseemly haste, he gathered his things, nearly tearing open the door and leaving the cottage. Nature stopped him in his tracks. The sun shone brilliant in a pale blue sky, vaulting over the summit of Mount Beacon and turning the tops of the maples to fire. All the scents of mysterious autumn assaulted him led by the alluring comfort of the smoke from Scott’s chimney.

“Good morning!” The man himself called out, appearing from behind the cottage.

Theo managed to bite down a gasp. “Do you wait around corners in order to startle me?”

Scott laughed, taking it as a jest. “No. That’s Roxie’s commission.”

Sure enough, the cat had also appeared at Theo’s feet while he had been distracted by his host and the glorious morning. Silently and self-confidently, the ebon feline wound its way around his legs. It obviously wanted more attention, as cats were wont to do. Obedient, Theo bent down and scratched behind her ears.

“I rose a little early and finished my morning chores. If you didn’t mind, I thought that I might walk with you,” Scott scratched at his neck, a little bashfully. 

“Is this the day you commonly go into town?”

Scott licked his lips and smiled at him. “I don’t really have a set pattern.”

Theo could hear the lie in his voice, but he wasn’t going to call Scott out on it. Even after moments of irrational concern, he found himself wanting his host’s company. “I’d be pleased if you came with me.”

Scott took a moment to conscientiously put his tools away, and then nipped into the cottage to fetch a dark blue frock coat and a Monmouth cap. “It feels like it might rain,” he explained.

Hoisting his pack onto his back and slinging his musket over his shoulder, Theo left the vale where Scott’s cottage stood, Scott following quietly at his heels. Roxie accompanied them all the way to the open space in the stone wall, where a gate would stand if someone would took the time to build it. The cat seemed unwilling to go any farther but followed them with its yellowed gaze until they were out of sight.

The wooded path which led down the mountain and into Beacon Hollow would have been every bit as dangerous at night as Scott had promised. After a steep incline, it intercepted a creek which bubbled up out of the ground. The path and the creek paralleled each other. As treacherous as the mist-slicked rocks that made up the path could be, it was the only possible location for the path as thickets of thorns dotted the hillside around them. Between wooden logs serving as make-shift bridges, sharp slopes that made balancing an effort, and narrow twists amid massive trees, the route promised disaster for the reckless traveler.

“Who chose this course?” Theo wondered out loud as he carefully picked his way down a set of stairs.

Scott chuckled grimly but didn’t answer yet, instead he walked ahead until he disappeared around a copse of walnut trees. Theo hurried after him only to find Scott standing in the clearing beyond. He pointed to the east, a little farther up the mountain, and Theo following his finger to a magnificent home. 

“Beacon Hollow was founded by four families: the Whittemores, whose ancestor was a sister of the disgraced second governor of the New York Colony, Francis Lovelace; the Martins, who have been important here since it was New Amsterdam even though they were English; the Argents, who were a family of trappers who might have been the first people here after Henry Hudson; and the Stilinskis, who nobody — not even them — know how they got here from Poland. The Argents were the first to build a home on the sides of the hill — it was a glorified hunting lodge really — but the Martins, not to be out done, built a bigger house, and then the Whittemores nearly went bankrupt trying to build an even a bigger house farther up on the mountain. That’s their mansion.”

“What about the Stilinskis?”

“The Stilinskis were more sensible.”

“It sounds like it got out of hand.”

“Oh, yes. All three families kept claiming land and building improvements. When it became obvious that the village needed a road from the north, neither the Martins nor the Whittemores were willing to give up land for it, so we had to settle for this. Believe me, the road out of the village to the south is much smoother.”

Finally, after a few more twists and turns, the path left the woods. Like a curtain being pulled back, the trees vanished and they were surrounded by farms. Their fields had long since been emptied by the harvest and lay fallow behind wooden fences. On the other hand, the farms were still busy for there was a lot of work to be done before the first snows hit, and that would be soon.

Something happened a few times as they walked between the homesteads before Theo noticed. On their way, the pair would come across a man working on the fence or a mother and her children doing chores. They’d look up to see Scott and him walking down the road. Scott would always greet them, sometimes by name, and Theo would follow with a polite nod. They were answered mostly with stares, and though while some answered with their voices, no one was enthusiastic about it. After, when they believed that Scott and Theo had passed them by, they would often make gestures designed to ward off evil and the mothers would hurry their children inside. 

Theo turned with amazement to study Scott; he couldn’t reconcile their reactions to the person standing next to him. They really did act like Scott was a witch. 

The village itself turned out to be not much of a village. Instead, a knot of ten buildings marked a good mooring place on the Hudson River. A single dock extended into the stream, and there were at least two boats tied up with that. Theo took note. 

“There’s the general store,” Scott pointed the building out as they walked what must have passed as the main boulevard. “It’s a good store though they never seem to have any bacon. We _never_ have any bacon.”

“Well …”

“We have all these farms, but no one raises any pigs!” Scott complained, sounding younger than he actually was. “Over there is Dr. Deaton’s home. He has an office there. If you are interested and he’s not busy, I could introduce you to him.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll be any trouble. He’ll probably pick your brain about Cornwall County. He travels often.” Scott laughed at the idea and then drew Theo towards a larger building that seemed to be a strange hybrid of home and business. On the wide porch stood a tall man in a state of excited dishevelment. His wild black hair peaked out from under a wig that was in dire need of both powder and repair. His cravat was loose and flying about his neck, his coat, breeches and stockings were covered with black smudges. He was presently waving his finger in the face of a British soldier, who was staring back with an amused look on his face. The soldier was not only an officer but also extraordinarily handsome.

“Excuse me, sir, but my men are well behaved. I give you my word as an officer that they will cause no harm in the homes where they have been quartered, either physical, social, or financial. It will not be that long, for the winter at most, and my men need the rest.”

“I’m not doubting your word, Major Parrish!” The man respond, flailing his arms so hard that Theo thought he might take flight. “I’m doubting the authority of the Crown to quarter men in homes without permission.”

“We have the permission of the Governor,” Parrish protested, good naturedly.

“You don’t have my permission. You _don’t_ have my permission. I do not know for sure, sir, but I believe truly that you have not asked any of the families in which you have quartered your soldiers for their permission.” 

“My apologies, but that is how it must be,” said the slightly exasperated major. He turned and walked away, the angry man on the porch following the soldier with his eyes.

“Stiles!” Scott called, and the man on the porch turned so fast that his wig fell off. Without even looking, Stiles grabbed the errant hairpiece out of the air. 

“Scott, my true friend!” Stiles leaped off the porch. “Am I confused about your regularity? I wasn’t expecting you until the day after tomorrow.”

Scott colored and didn’t look at Theo. 

“Stiles, this is Theo Raeken, he’s a trapper from Cornwall County,” Scott introduced them, hoping to change the subject. “Theo, this is Mieczyslaw Stilinski, my best friend, and the publisher of the _Beacon Hollow Examiner._”

“Oh. Ink.” 

Stiles looked at himself as if suddenly recognizing that he was covered in ink. “Huh. I guess that’s true. Mr. Raeken, welcome to our village. What brings you here?”

Theo gave his standard story about furs and New York. As he did so, he notice Stiles’ brows coming together in suspicion. He was the first person to question Theo’s perfect delivery of his prepared story. 

“Mr. Raeken, that shows a great deal of industry, but I can’t help but wonder if you are aware that you’re not going to get that much of a better price in the city. According to basic principles posited by John Locke, merchants in New York aren’t going to offer you a better price than you’d get in Falmouth, because the supply of such a large city confirms to the demand. As a trapper, you should know that.”

Blinking, Theo stood shocked for a moment. “I guess you’re right.”

“I am most assuredly right.”

Scott looked slightly embarrassed, but the wary Stiles crossed his arms. 

“The truth is that I wanted to see New York.” Theo had learned a long time ago that sometimes the best way to cover his mistakes was with an appeal to an emotion. “As I told your friend, I know a lot of people at home, but I might see them four to six days a month. It’s not odd that I want to spend some time where there’s a lot of people.”

His excuse was effective, as Scott stepped forward to intervene. “You don’t have to justify your decisions to us, Theo. Stiles tends to be confrontational.”

Stiles frowned at his friend.

“You were being very hostile to Major Parrish,” Scott pointed out. “What was that all about?’

If the hostler was seeking to redirect the journalist, he succeeded. “His Most Gracious Majesty, George II, has decided that a company of the 62 Royal American Regiment shall be quartered for the winter here in Beacon Hollow whether the citizens of our town like it or not!” 

Stiles looked like he was about ready to perish of apoplexy on the porch of his own home. Scott came up and laid a restraining hand on his arm. “Why don’t we go inside before you start spewing sedition?”

“Of course,” Stiles brushed off the hand, though he relented. “Mr. Raeken, please, join us.”

The press of the Beacon Hollow Examiner was remarkably neat and well maintained, compared to the status of its publisher. Theo had never seen a printing press before, it’s great plates and cranks dominating the room. He walked over to a stack of printed newspapers. He couldn’t have anything but respect for someone who would put together these. 

“You should be careful, Stiles. A magistrate could put you in the pillory.”

“Need I remind you that my father is the magistrate, so I doubt that would happen, but even if it could, I will not be silenced. The government can’t control what a man believes. Parliament can’t control what a people think. His Majesty cannot rob one single human being of a single inalienable right given to them!”

Scott’s face was filled with concern. “Is what they have done really worth the risk?”

“This village has a population of two-hundred and seven men, women, and children. Major Parrish’s company is one hundred men, with accompanying horses and wagons. They will be here from this date until possibly the arrival of spring! You don’t think it will completely disrupt the life of the ten homes and farmsteads that were selected at random. It was done by fiat and the only input the property owners had is where the soldiers slept. All for a war that is nothing more than a sidebar for that actual European conflagration!”

Stiles went on to inform Scott, in intricate detail, of the locations of the British troops and how long they planned on staying. Theo simply listened. 

“Mark my words, if the British Crown believes that the colonies will forever be content with a denial of our basic dignity, they might find themselves short a few colonies.”

Theo chuckled. “You would revolt against your king?”

“Strip me naked and stand me in a field in the rain. Strip the Prince of Wales naked and stand him in the same field in the same rain!” Stiles’ voice rose in passion. “We will both be cold. We could both catch pneumonia. We could both die from it. We are both men in the eyes of God and nature, and we are both subject to God’s law and natural law. He cannot take what does not belong to him.”

“I think you’ll find that the sovereign can do as he pleases,” Theo pointed out. 

“So could any man with inordinate wealth and sizable armies. That’s simply an exercise of power. Power does not equal truth. Power does not equal righteousness.” 

Theo glanced over at Scott who was smiling with a quiet pride at his friend. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Stiles was preaching radical agitation, which could be taken as an incitement to rebellion.

“Oh, Stiles,” called out a feminine voice, “how many times must I remind you that it’s impolite to lecture guests the first moment they are in our presence?” A beautiful red-haired woman emerged from the door at the rear of the press room. 

Stiles looked shamefaced but also foolishly in love. “Mr. Raeken, this is my fiancé, Lydia Martin. Lydia, this is Theo Raeken. He’s a new friend of Scott’s.”

“Well, any friend of Scott’s is a friend of ours.” Lydia’s clothing was fastidiously clean down to her petticoats and not a single hair was out of place, especially when compared to Stiles. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Ma’am.” Lydia went over to where her fiancé was standing. “You may kiss my cheek, Stiles, if you promise not to get any ink upon me.” 

“I’ll try my best.” And try he did.

“Your husband seems very enthusiastic in his work,” Theo commented in a friendly way. Scott burst out laughing; Theo turned to him. “Did I say something wrong?”

“It’s our work,” Stiles announced. He gestured to two writing desks on the far wall. “Lydia writes half the stories for the newspaper. I handle the politics and the news, while she writes the articles on science and society.” 

“I also edit his works. My husband has not mastered the art of spelling and grammar.”

Stiles pouted. “Ahh, tedium. It shouldn’t matter if they can understand what I’m saying.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes and walked over, fearlessly, to where Theo stood. “Why won’t you join us for an early lunch?” Not waiting for his response, Lydia pulled him into the back room.

**~*~**

Stiles Stilinski and Lydia Martin complemented each other to the point that it seemed to have been written in the stars. Stiles was a windstorm, switching from loud opinion to cold facts, from pessimistic insight to pointed exhortation. Yet, as dizzying as Stiles’ harangue could be, it would slowly bring his audience under his spell, because his goal was always to include the listener in his world, even if it required twisting their arm. Lydia on the other hand was poised, an intimidating peak in the social whirl. She could stop bad behavior with a raised eyebrow, she could dismantle an argument with a simple sentence. Together, they dominated the table, even if it was a casual lunch.

The lunch wasn’t one of particular note: pease porridge, dark bread, and light beer. Lydia and Stiles served Scott and Theo, bringing out two extra plates as if it were no big deal. Theo thought that perhaps someone of the four founding families of the village would have servants, but Stiles scoffed at the idea. They were perfectly capable of doing their own cleaning and cooking; their egos weren’t so huge that they needed to be waited on hand and foot.

Lydia also pointed out that having a brand-new printing press was not inexpensive. Stiles scowled at her until the table broke into laughter. 

Theo kept an eye on Scott as they listened to Master Stilinski and Mistress Martin. Perhaps he paid too much attention, but he was very good at reading the emotions of other people. Ever since they had arrived in town, Scott had grown quiet and more melancholy. As the meal progressed through the meal, he said less and less and his attention were drawn to some place beyond the wall.

When they had all but finished the meal, Scott got up from the table and excused himself. Theo stood up immediately to follow him, until he realized he didn’t have a logical reason to do so. But he wanted to, and he didn’t know what to do with that.

“Please,” Scott said kindly, “stay with Stiles and Lydia. Finish eating.”

Theo was at a loss of word for a minute, something for which he was not familiar. All three of them were looking at him. “I feel that would be most unkind of me to you, considering your efforts on my behalf.”

“No, not at all. Scott has had his time with you, now it’s our pleasure,” Lydia interjected smoothly. “Sit, Mr. Raeken, I’m sure you would like to hear.”

“Please do stay, Mr. Raeken,” Stiles added, a little less enthusiastically.

He couldn’t think a reason other than he wanted to be near Scott, so he sat back down while Scott left through a side door.

The couple tried to keep him involved, and Theo supposed they would grow on him in time, but he couldn’t exile either the hope that he’d see Scott again or the curiosity of where he had gone in such a mood. 

He couldn’t keep it hidden from long. Lydia finally broke the silence on the subject. “Scott will be well. This happens sometimes when he visits town.”

“I see.”

“Someone must have said something to him,” Stiles said, staring at Theo as if he could pull off the top of his head. “Do you know anything about it?”

“Me?” Theo thought back. “He told me a lot of things last night. The only really odd thing that stood out was that the people of the village think he is a witch. I did not believe it, but then I saw how the farmers reacted ...”

Stiles and Lydia looked at each other as Theo trailed off. Lydia face was etched with sadness and Stiles’ face was a bomb waiting to go off. 

“Those bastards,” Stiles gritted.

“As I said, Mr. Raeken,” continued a pale Lydia. “Scott will be well. He’s gone to the churchyard.”

**~*~**

The town of Beacon Hollow had only seen three-score years, so the yard behind the church was not yet very large. Barely forty graves marked the sacred ground, those of the first founders of the town and the first generation after them. Soon the second generation would populate the ground, but there plenty of room.

The sky had burst into rain, as Scott had predicted, as Theo came up to the white-washed fence that surrounded the graveyard. Luckily, his buckskin was made to stay as dry as such clothing could, but the water ran down his face and stung his eyes. Yet he could see what he needed to see.

Standing in the middle of the graveyard was a crypt. It was made of granite, ten feet high on a side. Theo wasn’t sure where the stone would come from. He didn’t know if there was a quarry nearby or if it had been floated up the river. It was larger than any of the other graves, and as a consequence it dominated the place. Theo had seen vaults before, far to the north, and they had been ethereal. He was told by the nuns that crypts and graves protect the body until it could be raised incorruptible in the last days, and in the meantime it would bring peace to those who mourned the one within. 

To him, it had been cold stone. And this vault? It brought no peace.

He could not see Scott from the angle by which he approached the vault, but he could hear him, if only barely. He was whispering, and Theo thought at first that it was a prayer like he had repeated over rabbit stew in the cottage. Yet, as he grew closer, it sounded like he was talking to someone, though the words were so soft and the rain fell hard that he couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. 

Theo stopped when he got within ten feet, and he could see that Scott was kneeling before the gate of the vault. 

“She was seventeen,” Scott said more loudly, “and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.”

His words stopped Theo in his tracks. He drew in a breath, not eager to break the spell.

“She thought I was kind. She thought I was different than the suitors her family were considering for her. She liked … she told me why she liked me, but I won’t share that with you. I won’t share that with anyone.”

“What happened?” Theo asked.

Scott startled, as if he hadn’t expected Theo to ask a question. “Her family objected. Why wouldn’t they object? I was an apprentice, learning husbandry. My father’s family had shoved me and my mother off into a corner of the world because they were ashamed of us. But she didn’t care. We didn’t care.”

The rain kept falling, splashing thoughtlessly on the roof of the vault.

“Most of the village thought I had to have bewitched her. Why would someone like her go with someone like me? Only our friends believed in it, but it didn’t matter. The more her parents objected, the more the villagers grew suspicious, the more we fell in love. Her father even shot an arrow in my arm. Eventually, her parents relented.” Scott looked to his left and sighed. “They even bought us a bed for our wedding.”

Theo felt a trickle of water go under our collar. 

“I killed her, Theo.”

“No.” The words forced their way out of Theo’s throat. He could follow game in a forest from bent leaves and tracks and spores; when a deer moved through the woods, they could not help but show what they were. Killers left marks on their soul, and a man who would kill what he loved could never hide from him. After all, he had studied the signs carefully every time he looked in a mirror. 

“I did. The truth is that I have done you wrong.” Scott said miserably. 

“How can you come to that conclusion?”

“I tried to hold you here because I was tired of being alone. I shouldn’t have. Solitude is what I deserve.” Scott got up and walked toward him, but he did not stop and just walked past him. “But I never learn my lesson.”

Theo turned in the rain and watched Scott walk slowly out of the graveyard. He didn’t turn towards the center of town but he was headed toward the road back to his cottage. Theo followed him, but he couldn’t bring himself to call out Scott’s name until he stood on the road itself. 

Scott turned and flashed a feeble smile, fake as Theo’s lies, at him. “I liked meeting you. Have a good trip to New York.”

Theo stood there. He did have to go to New York, but it took him far too long to say what he had to say. “Thank you. I liked meeting you, too.” 

The distance between them grew. Soon Scott would be lost to the rain. The smooth road to the south stretched before Theo; he’d have to return to the press room to get his furs and musket. He’d be gone to somewhere new within the hour or he could a room at the inn and wait until the rain stopped. There should have been nothing holding him in this tiny, insignificant town, but it felt like there was. 

He stood too long in the rain, but finally he couldn’t see any reason to stay where he was. He squared his shoulders and walked back towards the center of the village. Some strange feeling worried at his neck, so he looked back over his shoulder.

Standing in the middle of the graveyard, right by the mausoleum, was a woman. She was dressed all in black, and Theo had no idea from where she had come. He raised a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, and she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falmouth is an earlier name for Portland, Maine.


	4. Unhappy Days

The plaster ceiling was cracked so badly that it resembled a spider’s web. Not very closely, but then again Theo had an activate imagination. He wondered what could have caused such damage. He didn’t know anything about plastering, but he did know the building couldn’t have been that old. Perhaps the craftsmen were shoddy or the materials were of poor quality. For some reason, Theo found it acutely disappointing.

“Like everything else,” Theo muttered.

“Huh? What did you say?” The wanton lying next to him stirred and raised her head, curiously. In the near darkness of the Commons, she had seemed passably attractive, but when he had had the chance to study her in the smoky light of the inn’s many lamps, she had been revealed to be thin, and dirty, and sad. 

“Nothing which concerns you.” Theo didn’t snarl, but he came close. A muscle in his back clenched sharp enough for him to give a little gasp, for a reason that escaped him. 

“Don’t be like that,” she cooed. For all her bedraggled state, she was still sharp enough to read him. She had changed her tactics when she realized that he wasn’t going to respond the way her normal customers would. “Tell me a story.”

Theo returned to glaring at the ceiling, hoping she would go away. When it became apparent she wasn’t going to, he suddenly began to speak, surprising himself as much as her. “Among the Indians in the north, there is the tale of Gluscabi and his brother Molsem.”

Some rowdy patron careened their way down the hallway of the inn. Theo waited patiently until the noise had died down.

“When they were in their mother’s womb, Gluscabi and Molsem talked with each other, considering how they desired to be born. Gluscabi decided that he wanted to be born like everyone else, but Molsem believed himself destined for greatness, so he did not want to be born in the regular fashion. He declared he would burst out of his mother’s side. When the time came for them to be born, they both got what they desired. Gluscabi was born like everyone else, and so he was human. Molsem burst from his mother’s side, and so he was a wolf. Their mother died because of Molsem’s choice, so it spoiled things between the brothers.”

The woman, whose name Theo had forgotten or had never even asked after, clucked her tongue and ran her hand up his arm. He ignored it.

“As both of them grew up into adulthood, Gluscabi found he could not trust Molsem, remembering his mother and learning that Molsem was never trustworthy. In an attempt to rebuild their family, they promised to tell each other their deepest secret — how they could be killed. But Gluscabi lied and told Molsem that he could only die after being shot with an owl feather, while Molsem told the truth, that he could only be killed by a fern root.”

“So the good brother lied?” 

“Good doesn’t mean foolish,” Theo sighed. “A wise man can see those who are twisted for what they are without losing one’s generosity and compassion. In the end, Gluscabi was right to lie, because eventually Molsem tried to kill Gluscabi with the secret means, but, of course, it didn’t work. Several times they tried to be brothers, and every time Gluscabi told Molsem a lie and every time Molsem would try to kill his brother with that lie.”

The prostitute frowned. “Why did Molsem try to kill his brother so many times?”

“Because he was an evil wolf.” 

“That’s not a reason.” 

Theo didn’t know how to answer that, so he rolled his face away from her. “Sometimes you are what you are.” 

After a few minutes of Theo ignoring her, the whore got up out of the bed. “Well, if that’s how you’re going to be, I’ll be off.”

Theo remained silent, focusing on the decaying ceiling and the dingy walls. The woman left, closing the door behind her, and Theo was physically alone, though it wasn’t as if he had felt less alone while she had spent the evening with him.

The inn in which he was staying had been built and ran entirely for the benefit of the sailors who docked at the wharves and the doxies who worked the wharves — as well as the sailors. Once night had fallen over the city and the house owners had lit the lamps in their window front windows, a second world flooded the streets. He had stalked among the people occupying this second world, a predator without a forest, hunting for something without knowing what it was, ever since he had arrived. During these nocturnal activities, Theo had heard rumors of better brothels in better parts of town, but he hadn’t bothered to find out if any of them were true. He had found a place, paid for a woman, and had his way.

It did not satisfy. Nothing here satisfied.

Maybe it was the atmosphere of the inn whose name escaped him as thoroughly as the woman’s had. The whole establishment was grimy and off kilter, lit by lanterns with poorly trimmed wicks and the cheapest oil that the innkeeper could probably find. These lamps bathed it in an off-putting yellowish glow and loaded the air with a sour, smoky scent. 

Maybe it was the way that the master of the house used malnourished child slaves exclusively in order to keep up the place. No patron bothered to comment on the way the servants tottered on weary legs. No one paid any mind, and the black children were too scared to meet his eyes. 

Maybe it was the rough bedclothes on which he lay. They were cheap wool and bargain linen. They were scratchy and uncomfortable and the ticks were filled with the most uncomfortable straw he had ever slept upon. Or maybe it was he kept remembering another bed, one far more comfortable and welcoming.

Theo decided he hated the city of New York.

He tossed on the suspect bed, trying to get comfortable. He should try again to go to sleep. He was tired; he was exhausted by the night’s activities as he had planned. He had tried his best to wear himself out with the bottle of wine that sat on the rickety table in the corner and the woman who had left the room, but as much as his eyes ached he had grown no closer to slumber. 

If all the weariness the pursuit of vice could bring could not help him sleep, perhaps the work of duty might lull him into slumber. Without bothering to dress, he pulled out the journal from his bag, as well as his quill and ink. He opened it up and began to review what he had written in Marcel’s code. 

He had done, if he had to say so himself, a very good job. He had tracked the wintering locations and numbers of most of the British armies in lower New York. He had the names of all the most important military officers and at least a passable description of some of them. He also had recorded the gossip he had learned: this colonel drank too much, that captain was thought to be a coward, and so on. It wasn’t as valuable as stealing battle plans, but it would be useful in devising a long term strategy to win the next campaign.

Theo read carefully forcing himself to review what had already discovered. It was tedious work, but that was the point. Eventually, the sheer repetition of it would drain him of energy and he’d be able to sleep.

He focused on those words until they danced before him like the leaves on the breeze back in Beacon Hollow.

“Stop,” he whispered to himself.

He shook his head and poured himself another glass of the cheap wine. He would reread the whole journal if he had to. He would sharpen his observations, he would elaborate, he would speculate until this was the greatest example of wartime espionage since … since …

Theo found himself unable to finish the thought. He couldn’t think of an example of wartime espionage to compare his work to. Perhaps his frustrated attempts to tire himself were finally having an effect on his brain. Or maybe he simply didn’t care. 

Angrily, he threw the journal across the room. It slammed against the wall and fell to the floor. No one would notice the noise in this place. He stood up and blew out the lantern with more force than necessary, then crossed the room and blew out the other lantern. He would lie in the darkness until he had no other choice to fall asleep.

Perhaps he would dream. 

Perhaps they would be good dreams.

**~*~**

A week later found him a mile south of Beacon Hollow. The trees were shorn of their autumnal splendor which made Theo feel like he had lost something precious. The bleak landscape had become some form of punishment. He had left, turned his back on the beauty of this place, and the spirits had cursed him never to experience again.

Theo grimaced at himself. He was becoming way too sentimental. His father would scold him for that, if his father were still alive. 

He had thought about taking the long way around and avoiding the Hollow completely. It would cost him no opportunities to gather intelligence nor would it waste his dwindling resources, and he would also avoid any of the frivolous, weak notions that this place seemed to bring out in him. He had been many places during his long travels, yet this was the only place that stood out in his mind. Every other village from Fort Carillon to the sea were simply coded notations in a journal. 

Scott had promised that the road to the south was much smoother, and he had been absolutely right. Forged through the wilderness before the plat wars of the Beacon Hollow families had begun, the southern road made use of a natural pass between spurs of the highland mountains. The road was wide and broad enough for two wagons to pass each other without stopping. So convenient it was that farms spread out along and well into the river plain the road cut through on its way toward the mouth of the Hudson. He had marked the odd turn off and the column of chimney smoke, and they hadn’t even reached the Hollow proper. 

The road ascended a gentle slope to the summit of a low arm of Mount Beacon; at this point it was barely more than a hill. At its highest elevation, there stood a clearing with few trees, as if God had designed a spot for the weary traveler to stop and rest for a few moments. 

If Theo turned around as he stood in the clearing, he could see the long road to the south. At the end, far beyond his ability to see, would be the dim and gray city of New York and the great flinty ocean behind it. The city had worn on his nerves during his stay. There were so many people he couldn’t remember their faces, and every interaction with them reminded him of spiders waiting to bind him and drain him dry. The remains of New Amsterdam were a trap. He knew without the slightest doubt he could succeed there, but he would need to wear a false face forever. He had stayed as long as he had been able to force himself, persevering until he had learned all he could learn. When duty finally allowed him to admit he was finished, he had nearly sprinted his way out of the burg. The atmosphere generated by all that busy stifled him, and the air stank, and the city’s commercial promise held no interest for him at all. 

If Theo raised his head to look farther north, he could see the very tip of the path that would lead farther inland, up the river to Albany and beyond that to the lands controlled by the French armies. That bloody place was his destination, a place dominated completely by war. His obligations lie there, but they hung like lead in his gut. He had been to war, seen the dead, seen the wounded, seen the sacrifices made by his people for the French against the English, all to influence an outcome of another war in lands he would never see. In the direction lay the Beast and his sinister henchman, lay their false appreciation and snickering derision. In that direction lay the war parties of the Wabenaki Confederacy who used him often but called him Molsem behind his back. 

Between the great grasping city and the strongholds of violence lay only one place he could remember clearly: Beacon Hollow.

Yet he didn’t belong in Beacon Hollow. No matter where this errant dissatisfaction had arisen from, he was yet a Penobscot Scout, a French spy, and an enemy to every single person who lived in the shadow of the mountain. If he were honest and true, he would tell people who he was, and they most merciful thing they would do would be to drive him away. If he were loyal to his people, he’d march through the village without stopping, return to Fort Carillon, and deliver his report. He would stay with the other scouts and fight with them when it came to spring. 

There was a third choice. It would require bravery and conviction and not a little subterfuge.

Theo put his bag down and took out the journal. He studied it carefully; this was the product of all his work. He ran his fingers over it, but he hesitated only for a minute. Digging through his pack, he retrieved a hunting knife and his folded-up oilskin. Working quickly, he cut a large enough square to cover the book completely and then tied the package tightly with twine. He tested it to see if it was secure and then he left the road.

Not far from the path there was an oak tree, one of the largest he had seen in this area, and it had a particularly twisted trunk. Not five feet away from its roots stood a moss-covered boulder, the only one as far as his eye could see. Incongruously, as if a giant long ago had dropped it there intending to pick it up later, it had lain unused and forgotten. This would be a good spot.

Theo looked around to note any other landmarks. On the east side of the road, perhaps one hundred and fifty yards from the tree line, Theo could make out a home. It wasn’t built like a farm house. It seemed more like a hunting lodge. From Scott’s description, this must be the Argent home whose construction had started the competition between Beacon Hollow’s most important families. With the leaves off the trees, the lodge could now be seen. It looked mournful, slightly rickety, and covered with dead ivy. 

With the hunting knife, he began to loosen the ground, using the blade as if it were a hoe. Once he felt he had gone deep enough, he scooped out the dirt with his hands and placed the journal in the ground. It could remain there until he came back for it. If things went as Theo hoped, it could remain there forever. It was the only physical evidence that he wasn’t exactly what he had told everyone he was. 

He stood up and wiped his hands. He had plenty of time to reach the village before the sun went down. An unbidden smile flashed across his face and he started off. 

Theo hadn’t gotten more than thirty paces when the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He spun around, but there was no one on the road. He considered he might be paranoid until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a dark shape standing amid the bare trees. With a lurch, he realized it was the figure he had seen in the graveyard when he had said goodbye to Scott in the rain. It was hard to make the details of the woman out, as she was dressed all in black and veiled; she blended into the black trunks surrounding her. 

He stared and she did not move. 

“Hey!” The word felt stupid on his lips. Still, she did not move.

Shrugging, Theo turned away, telling himself she was none of his concern. Yet, he had not gone another five steps before he wondered how long she had been watching him. When he turned around, she was gone. Vanished as if she never were. 

His sentimentality must be getting the better of him. No woman, nor man either, dressed like that in the afternoon light could move so stealthily as to evade his sight. It was a befuddlement of the eyes. It was nothing to worry about.

**~*~**

The sun finally touched the top of the dead trees as Theo reached the knot of buildings that was Beacon Hollow proper. It had been a chilly day and promised to be a colder night. He wasn’t worried. He still had plenty of money, and there was a small, cozy inn by the docks where he could stay.

The few townspeople he could see where beginning to settle down for the rapidly approaching evening. Craftsmen were putting away their tools. Farmers were bedding down their livestock. Families were gathering for the evening meal. With the coming of darkness, Beacon Hollow would soon come to rest. 

There was a light on, however, in the Beacon Hollow Examiner’s press room, for which Theo was grateful. He wanted to get this conversation out of the way as soon as possible.

Mieczyslaw Stilinski appeared — sans wig, sans coat, and apparently sans shoes — at the doorway. “Master Raeken!” His tone was a confusing mixture of surprise and concern.

“Master Stilinski. Good evening.”

The man tilted his head to the side. Theo recognized that the publisher’s momentary silence meant he was calculating this turn of events internally. Finally, Stilinski allowed himself a raised eyebrow. “What brings you to my door this evening?”

“I know it must be inconvenient,” Theo apologized, but it was what etiquette demanded, “but I was hoping you would have some time to talk to me.”

An eyebrow lifted the barest moment. “A talk concerning?”

“Your friend.”

“Scott?” 

Theo took a deep breath; it wouldn’t do to get irritated. Master Stilinski was intent on drawing him out. 

“Yes. Please, I truly need the advice of someone who knows him well. I promise I mean him no harm and only weal.”

Mieczyslaw opened the door to the printing room wide enough for Theo to come in. They were alone in there; tomorrow’s paper had been printed and was stacked on tables ready to be distributed. Scott’s friend pulled his fiancé’s chair out for Theo to sit on and then set his own out to face it squarely.

“Where is Mistress Martin?”

“She is visiting her family for the evening. Please sit down.”

Master Stilinski’s voice broke no dispute, so Theo sat down across from him. He normally wouldn’t have come here at all but he needed to know the full story of the crypt in the graveyard, and he didn’t think he could find the courage to ask Scott. Theo didn’t even think he’d be able to talk to Scott yet. 

“I am curious, Master Raeken, why you would be so interested in my friend. After all, you knew him for but a night. You are no neighbor to him; your home lies far away.”

Theo pulled at the fringe on his buckskin frock. “It is hard for me to explain.”

“By all means, try. It has always been my self-appointed task to protect my friend from those who would make ill use of him. He has a generous heart, and he would open his door to any stranger in need. Such kindness leaves him vulnerable, but he shall not be taken advantage of while I breathe.”

Theo frowned at the subtle accusation, but the man barreled on. 

“The only reason, Master Raeken, I am even talking to you right now is that … I am aware of how happy your brief stay made him. Not that I quite understand how you could accomplish it, yet all he could speak about for the next week was you.”

A sudden urge of warmth flooded through Theo’s chest. “I … am glad to hear that.”

“Are you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re a stranger on a trip. I would have thought that you would pass through and then return to your home, and this would be but a memory as the years pass, but here you are once again. I think I have an inkling of why your stay impressed my friend so readily, but his reasons could not possibly be yours.”

“You don’t know anything about me or my reasons.”

“True.” Mieczyslaw narrowed his eyes. “Which is why your presence arouses my suspicions, even while I welcome your return. If you paid attention at all, you would have realized that Scott’s life here in Beacon Hollow is quite isolated. The groundless suspicions of the populace are a burden he should not have to bear. He has done nothing for the people here but be a fine neighbor and, if I do say so myself, a bit of a hero. Anything that rewards his nature is pleasing to me.”

Theo gritted his teeth. It was against his natural inclination to share information, but there were prices that had to be paid. “To be honest, from your description, Scott and I have a great many things in common. I may be from the north, but it has long ceased to be any sort of home for me.” It was a little bit of truth that cost him nothing to share. 

“Humph.”

“You might find this hard to believe, but I, too, found the night I spent with your friend to be something worthy of remembering. This memory accompanied me on the road, and I found myself wishing to return. In truth, I thought about spending longer than a few nights in your village.”

“It has its charms, I agree.”

“None the least is the warm nature of your friend. Yet, I am afraid that when Scott and I parted it was not on the best of terms. He was distraught; he believe that he had somehow misused me. I have no wish to add to his burdens, and I know, from our conversation over lunch, that you might help me understand why he feels that way.”

Mieczyslaw looked momentarily torn. “When we were sixteen and just becoming men, Scott met a girl: Allison Argent. Her parents had moved here to take over their family’s holdings. The Argents were wealthy, powerful, and proud, however, by the grace of God, Allison bore her legacy without becoming hardened by it. They fell in love.” He shook his head. “Her parents were … violently opposed and they used every means at their disposal to undermine the match. Her father even shot Scott with a crossbow.” 

“I saw the scar.”

“Part of their efforts was a campaign of whispers, claiming that Scott had only won the interest of the Allison by means of a pact signed with the Devil.” Mieczyslaw’s scorn was potent. “The Argents thought to drive him away, but they underestimated his stubbornness. Yet the damage was done to Scott’s reputation. When it seemed that they could not thwart Scott and Allison’s relationship, Christopher and Victoria began to relent. This story might have had a happy ending, save for the arrival of Gerard, Allison’s grandfather.”

Theo leaned forward slightly. 

“Gerard had plans within plans, and Allison marrying for love was not part of any scheme he had hatched. Over the objection of his own son, the objection of his daughter-in-law, and in defiance of the basic dignity of human beings, Gerard plotted Scott’s destruction. Instead of whispered rumors, he accused him publically of witchcraft, using the stories that the other Argents had spread, but never meant to carry through, to convince others.”

“No one could believe that of Scott once they met him.”

“They did not have to believe for long; they had only had to believe long enough for there to be a trial. Gerard is clever beyond imagining. His plot would not only end the relationship but also salvage the reputation of his granddaughter, allowing to use her to advance other plans elsewhere. He even had a judge already picked out.”

Theo had plenty of experience with men like that. 

“In hindsight, they should have fled; they could have sailed to Mexico and been happy.” Master Stilinski’s voice caught in his throat. “But Scott believed that they should stand up against people like Gerard, and Allison and I agreed with him. I helped them prove Gerard’s treachery. When faced with defeat, Gerard gambled that he could get away with killing a Mexican Indian and snatched up a pistol to end Scott’s life. Allison put herself between her beloved and her blood and paid the final price for it.”

Mieczyslaw’s voice was filled with regret and a horrified amazement that someone could be so cold. Theo was unsurprised. 

“Why does Scott stay here?” Theo finally spoke.

“In some way, I think he partly stays for me and Lydia, but mostly he stays as a form of penance. He blames himself for Allison’s death, and none of those that love him can dissuade him.” The man’s eyes found Theo. “The situation is barely tolerable to me, but I help where I can. Which is why your coming is a grave matter.”

“I do not understand.”

“At dinner with us, and I know you could not have known this, but it was the first time I saw him smile, truly smile, since she died.”

“So that is why you fear that I am false?” 

“I am suspicious of you because I do not believe that such wonderful things just happen overnight. There is no unalloyed good as there is no unalloyed evil. If you bring a smile to my friend’s face, I am compelled to question your motives.”

Theo studied the man. “I have no intention of harming your friend or you, for that matter. On that you have my word. Thank you for your time.” He rose from the seat and headed toward the door. He paused with his hand on the door knob.

“See that you do not,” Master Stilinski called out. “And welcome, once again, to Beacon Hollow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too many people think that black slavery was only a southern phenomenon. In 1741, New York City was gripped with paranoia about a slave rebellion.


	5. The Founder's Day Dance

The wind hurtling through the dead trees was tinted white by the blowing snow. It had fallen yesterday and the ground cover was still white and fresh. The sun’s first rays glisten across it like diamonds. 

The dawn had seen Theo officially become a deserter from the allied forces of the French and the Wabenaki Confederacy. He found, as he set off to work, that he didn’t much care. If they managed to work their way this far south, then he would start to worry about it.

A snowdrift crunched beneath Theo’s feet. While there had been accumulations earlier in the month, this was the first time the ground had been completely covered. It was as if someone spread a white cloth over the ground. It was nothing compared to what blizzards might come with winter’s full arrival, but it did make tracking so much easier.

Theo hopped over a fallen log in his way with ease. According to the signs on the ground, the turkey flock was steadily working its way down the line of the ridge, seeking better cover in some of the denser thickets. Turkeys, unlike other birds, would not migrate south. Instead, they would find sheltered areas in which to huddle together in order to survive the cold months to come. 

Finally, he caught sight of the flock up ahead. They hadn’t noticed him trailing them, so they weren’t nervous or particularly alert. Turkeys were spectacularly ugly birds, and Theo was glad they looked so much better skinned and cooked. He straightened his spine and drew his bow. He could have used the musket, but at his distance he would have to aim for the center of mass, and no one liked having to dig a ball out of their dinner before they could cook it. Arrows were easy to remove.

It flew straight to its target. The flock scattered, leaving the stricken hen in its wake. Smiling, Theo meandered over to the bird and picked it up.

“Aye,” Theo commented on his victim’s appearance. “Still ugly.”

He suddenly remembered Scott talking about how he didn’t like killing animals. His smile widened at the memory, and he tossed the bird over the shoulder. He’d take it back to the manor and get it ready for dinner.

It had taken him less than a week to find work after he had decided to try to stay in Beacon Hollow. He hadn’t been worried; he had still had plenty of the French money left over and more money from the pelts he had sold in New York. But that gold wouldn’t last forever, and it would be suspicious if he loitered around the village with no apparent purpose, so he started looking for work immediately. 

Luckily, the Whittemore family existed in a state of perpetual pretentiousness. Squire Whittemore was a lawyer, and he also served as the notary for the area, so he considered himself far too educated and important to do things like putting food on his own table. He owned a great deal of the land surrounding Beacon Hollow, elbowing out the Martins and the Argents for the title of largest landholder. The family’s previous gamekeeper had grown elderly, and the man had no desire to face another winter tromping about in the woods. It was sheer luck on Theo’s part that the position opened up as he inquired about it.

Theo had found that the position suited him. He was, thanks to his father and grandfather, a skilled hunter, cunning in woodcraft. He had been given a room at the Whittemore’s manor house in the servant’s quarters. Hunting took time, yet most of the day remained his own to do with as he wished. David Whittemore had already started listening to his advice about forestry eagerly. Small-minded gentry like the Whittemores were often easy to manipulate, due to their insatiable need to be greater than they were. Even if they had been happy to be the biggest fish in the pond, they couldn’t help but compare their present domain to those in the next biggest pond. 

According to the cook and the maids, the Whittemores had sent their only son to study at Harvard College, even though the man, Jackson, had had little interest in it. He had graduated none-the-less and now studied law at an office in New York. He would carry on the family’s tradition, even though the maids assured him that Jackson resented not being able to choose his occupation for himself. 

Theo was particularly familiar with that feeling, but he had taken steps to reclaim his life from his father’s plans.

Squire Whittemore believed everything that Theo had told him about managing the game on his land, even the parts that Theo had made up, and Theo had demonstrated his skill in hunting straight away by bringing down a doe on his first day. He had kept the manor well supplied with game, and he had even managed to scare away a few poachers. 

It wasn’t work that would make him rich, and it certainly wasn’t work that would make him powerful. His father would never have approved of his choice, but Theo liked to think that his mother might. His grandfather would definitely have approved, even if it was working for an English. Sometimes, in his dreams, even Tara would approve.

The turkey was heavy on his shoulders, but it wouldn’t weight him down for long. The sun would still be a little past its zenith when he reached the manor. He would have plenty of time to dress the bird and head on down to the village for a pint with the local farmers. 

Work on a farm didn’t stop in the winter. There were still animals to be fed, tack to be repaired, damage to the fences and to the barns to be fixed, but the season also saw more leisure time. Each afternoon, a variety of the local farmers would find their way to the village, perhaps telling their wives or themselves that they had to pick up some supplies from the store. After a brief stop, they would make their way to the inn, which also served as a tavern. They’d sit around at the tables, telling stories or playing cards. 

Theo’s habit of spending afternoons with the farmers had started by accident. Mother Whittemore had asked him to take a letter for her son down to the wharf and see to it that it got on the right boat to New York. He had killed two deer the day before, so he didn’t need to hunt until the day after next at the earliest. The taverns right up next to the wharf, so he had decided to sit there and take a rest before returning. He had been accosted by a few of the regulars, and he had been so entertaining that they had pressed upon him to come back.

Theo found he truly enjoyed their company. Most of them were older than he was, so they tended to treat him like a younger brother. In return, he would spin stories of the deep wilderness, of the things he had seen when he was a trapper in the pristine woods. Some of them were actually true. Eventually, he had claimed his own regular spot by the front window. 

Eventually, the day would ebb and the farmers would need to start the long journey back to their homes. Theo was always the last to leave. He did not have the same rush, for the servants at Whittemore Manor ate after the family’s evening meal. Even if he was too late for the servants’ meal, the cook would keep his dinner in a covered dish by the hearth. He suspected she was sweet on him.

But it wasn’t the surety of her affections that made him the last to leave each afternoon. He was waiting for someone.

From his spot at the window, Theo could watch the main road. He knew from which direction Scott would have to come if he were going to purchase food at the store or visit his friends at the printing press. 

It had been only his third week he had been back in Beacon Hills, the second week working for the Whittemores, and but a single week since he had started to spend the late afternoon in town, but it had felt like a lifetime when he had finally seen Scott coming down the road towards the village. He had put a gold eagle on the table, which was enough to pay for his beer and remain an outrageous tip, but he hadn’t had the luxury of time to count coins. He had had to move and quickly.

It had been raining. Theo had quickly spread this new oilskin across his shoulders as he had flown out the door. Scott had been hurrying through the rain to get to his own destination, and from his demeanor he had obviously had other things on his mind. Theo had planned to intercept before Scott could find his way.

Theo had planted himself right in his path. The cold rain had been coming down so hard that Scott had his face focused on the ground in front of him, putting one foot before the other. As a result, Scott had almost collided with Theo. His quarry had narrowly avoided that by skidding to a stop and had begun a general apology before realization of who was before him made it fade on his lips.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Theo had smiled his most charming smile.

“Theo?” 

“I’m glad you remember. How have you been?”

They had stood in their rain for the space of a few breaths. Scott had studied Theo’s face as if it they hadn’t seen each other since they were children but it had only been little over a month. “I’ve been …” The words had escaped him.

“I moved here.”

“What?”

“I moved here. I’m the Squire’s new gamekeeper.”

Theo had known what was coming. He had always been good at predicting how people would react, so when Scott’s face had seemed ready to tear itself in two between alarm and elation, he was had not been the least bit surprised.

“That’s …” Scott had hesitated and then the precursor to a smile had appeared on his face. “That’s wonderful. We’re going to be neighbors.”

“Yes.” Theo had nodded in the rain, his eyes never leaving Scott’s eyes. “We’re going to be neighbors.”

The rain had been cold, hard enough to have worked its way through the gaps in their rain gear, but they had still stared at each other in the middle of the street. Theo had honestly lost track of how long they had stood there.

“That’s good news.” Scott had repeated himself and then had flushed in embarrassment. “I mean … but I should let you go.”

“You have places you need to be?”

“Yeah, I do. But … it’s good to see you.”

Theo had nodded and had walked off. So far his plan had gone perfectly.

It wasn’t an evil plan. He wasn’t planning on kidnapping Scott or murdering him to take all that he had. But part of the reason he had chosen to come to Beacon Hollow and start a new life was because he wanted Scott to be part of that life. 

The first phase of the plan consisted of arranging for them both to cross each other’s paths. After Scott’s break down in the graveyard and Master Stilinski’s story, Theo couldn’t just show up at Scott’s cottage and expect things to progress the way Theo wanted them to. He had to slowly and gently insert himself into Scott’s life until he could have a real conversation with him, to reconnect with him like he had that night he had spent at Scott’s home. 

So, whenever Theo had had the chance, he had managed to be walking down the street when Scott appeared in town. He had started attending the church where Scott went each Sunday and had simply happened to run into him afterward. Their conversations were never very long, and they were never very involved, but Theo could tell that he had been slowly wearing away at Scott’s reticence. 

He had spent maybe one night worrying if he were twisted to want what he wanted. His father wouldn’t have approved. The nuns wouldn’t have approved. But they wouldn’t have approved of him doing anything he had done with his life. In for a penny, in for a pound. In the end, maybe those who had nicknamed him Molsem were right. He didn’t want to be like everyone else.

Theo pushed open the servants’ door to the kitchen, as he had finally reached the man house. “Here you go,” he called out to the cook. She was good at her job, even with a heavy German accent.

“What a lovely bird! You are so good, Master Theo!”

Theo put it down on the table. “It’ll look better once I chop its head off and take off all its feathers.” He got to work straight away, taking up the entire table to clean it. “Do you want to cook it for tonight?”

The cook turned away from her labor and dried her hands with a towel. “Hmm. No. Once you have it dressed put it in the cellar. I don’t have time to cook it before the dance.”

“Dance?” 

“Oh, Theo!” The woman chided him. “No one has told you about the Founder’s Day Dance? Tomorrow marks the day Beacon Hollow was founded.”

“Of course I’ve heard that they have a dance, but I didn’t know it was tonight.” He had indeed heard of it, but he hadn’t paid much attention.

“Everyone in the village is invited. You must come. All the girls will want to pester you for many dances.”

Theo smiled feebly; he could imagine it. This year’s Founder Day Dance would be held at the Martin’s home, which happened to have the largest ball-room within fifty miles. Celebrants would start to arrive after nightfall. Theo paused long enough in his labor to put a huge pot of water on the stove. By time he got his work done, it would be warm enough that he could take it back to his room and bathe himself. 

As determined he had been to get their earlier, he didn’t reach Scott’s cottage until the last sliver of sun had disappeared behind the hill. He smoothed his hair and knocked on the door. 

Scott opened it as he always did. Theo’s work had not been unproductive. There was little reluctance on his face. “Theo! What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” 

“Come on in!” 

The cottage was just as warm and as inviting as it had been the last time. Roxie also seemed to remember him as well, as she immediately headed over to get the requisite attention.

“I’m really sorry,” Scott said. “I already ate dinner.” 

“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t come to swindle a free meal from you.” 

Scott looked offended. “I would never think that. I would want to have you over for dinner again. Have I said this?”

“Not recently.” Theo smiled. “But that’s not why I’m here. I heard that there’s a dance tonight.”

“Yeah. The Founder’s Day Dance. It’s the first of the three dances the village has. It helps them pass the long cold months. Are you planning to attend?”

“I am.”

Scott nodded, enthusiastically. “Have your eye on anyone to bring with you?”

“Yes. You.”

The news puzzled Scott for a few moments. He had to work it through slowly and his face slowly fell from excitement to a cautious grimness. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“I’ve been told, repeatedly, that everyone in the village is invited. I think it would be fun for you to come with me.”

“Theo.” Scott hemmed. “The villagers don’t like me much.”

“I know that.’ Theo laughed. “I know why. I think it’s stupid.” 

Scott didn’t look convinced. 

“It doesn’t matter what they’ve thought about you yesterday, it only matters what they’ve thought about you tomorrow. If you never do anything to show them that you’re not what they think you are, they won’t stop thinking it. Come with me to the dance.”

Theo senses Scott’s hesitation. “I promise you, if it becomes too uncomfortable, we’ll leave.”

The war on his features were plain to see. Theo imagined that it had become safe, if lonely, to live his life apart from all others, to not even look in their faces for welcome, to focus on the minister’s voice as he occupied a pew on Sunday. If Scott never tried to move beyond the narrow confines of the roofless prison that his past had made for him, he would never be hurt.

Theo had been there. It was better to be hurt and live than the slow death that disguised itself as safety.

In the end, Scott was brave, as Theo knew he would be. “I have to change clothes. Have a seat.”

It took longer than they imagined to get ready. Scott, at first, tried to wear his Sunday clothes to the party and Theo had scoffed. Scott had to have other clothes to wear than his work day gear and the somber black clothing he chose to worship in. Scott reluctantly pulled out a chest, and took out a fine set of breeches and a very white shirt. As a concession to the weather, Scott put on a heavier cloak over his coat, because it was chilly outside. It took longer to make the walk now it was night, so by the time they reached the Martin’s home, the party was well underway. They could hear the music from outside.

“Everyone wants to come to the Martin’s dances,” Scott explained. “Every member of the family plays instruments wonderfully well, and the parties are never boring. Mostly that’s Lydia’s work.”

“Well, then I for one can’t wait to see what she can do.”

The Martin home was of similar construction to the Whittemore Manor, though instead of building it as high on the mountain as it was possible to be built, the family had erected it as close as they possibly be o town. Candles had been lit in all the windows and a bonfire set right outside the front door. Theo wasn’t sure if the home could be made more welcoming if they tried. 

By the bonfire, Scott stopped to stretch his hands out over the fire, ostensibly to let the heat warm him. He did not fool Theo or probably anyone else; it was obvious that he was nervous. 

Theo took a step close, too close for most people, until his mouth was in Scott’s ear. “My grandfather told me that the trick when hunting deer is to move through the forest as if you were invited there. If you believe that you are the deer’s friend, so, eventually, will the dear.”

Scott turned to him but instead of allowing to answer, Theo took his friend by the wrist and led him into the Martin House. 

“Master McCall!” Lydia spotted them automatically. She had done up her hair in ringlets this evening, something that must have scandalized a half-dozen Presbyterian farm wives. “And Master Raeken. I am so glad you could come.”

She had called out loudly across the room. No one could miss their entrance now, but she had done in such a way as to establish the hostess’s attitude toward them. To slight them would be to slight her, even in this rural area. 

“It’s our pleasure, Miss Martin.” Scott offered a genuine smile. 

“Where is your fiancé, Miss Martin?” 

“He’s over there by the punch.” Lydia seemed fondly annoyed. “He’s drinking too much, trying to get up the nerve to ask me to dance. One of you should ask me to dance and spur him into action.

True enough, after Scott and Theo had danced with Lydia over three songs, Stiles overcame his anxiety and sought his fiancé. He wasn’t the best dancer, but what he lacked in grace, he made up for in enthusiasm. From the look on Lydia’s face, she didn’t care. 

The fun that they had among friends almost made up for the reception Scott got among the other party goers. It was colder than the weather outside, though no one was openly hostile to him. Honestly, it seemed that no one would dare ruin a part of the Martins by being confrontational. There were a few hilarious scenes as people edged away from Scott or stared at him, but Theo managed to distract Scott each time. Furthermore, as time went on, the villagers moved on to other pursuits when it became apparent Scott wasn’t going to curse them and their family for generations to come. 

After an hour or so, several dances, some very good punch, and as much food as Lydia and Lydia’s mother Natalie could press on them, Scott leaned over and asked if Theo would accompany him outside. Theo studied Scott for a second. The other man didn’t look uncomfortable and he certainly didn’t look unhappy so he relented. 

Scott led him to the bonfire outside. There had been a couple there, talking sweetly to each other over the flames, but they took one look at Scott and Theo’s approach and went inside. Not hastily out of fear, but rather over seeking somewhere more private for their assignations. 

Theo eyed the retreating couple until they were gone. “Those two will be betrothed by spring, or they won’t have any choice but to be betrothed.”

It took Scott a moment to work out what he had implied. “Don’t be scandalous.”

“You should know by now that I’m not at all concerned about scandal.”

“No, you aren’t. And I want to ask you why.” 

Theo turned to Scott. “Why?”

“You may think I’m not very observant, but I’ve heard from others that you’ve found a good place here. That’s not easy for strangers to do, and yet you risk it to spend time with me. Why would you do that?”

An answer came immediately to Theo’s mind but he hesitated. It was the truth, but he wasn’t used to going directly to the truth. He wasn’t used to wanting to tell the truth, and he was afraid, a little, of Scott’s reaction. “I hold you in high esteem, and if I am to forge a life here, I would like you to be a major part of that life. After all, I came back for you.”

“Me?” Scott turned to him. “I’m not someone you should build your life around.”

“And why not? You may be the kindness person I’ve ever met, and it is not only me who says that. I’ve found you to be truthful. I’ve found you to be industrious.”

“Everyone in the village works hard.”

“I doubt that everyone in the village would works as hard as you do for so little. Don’t try to tell me that you are not unique. No one else I know would ask a stranger in to his home to share a meal. No one else I know would treat the people of this town as well as you do when all they have done is ostracize you. Your heart is large and open; I want that.”

“Theo.” Scott breathed. “What do you mean?” It came out a whisper.

“I think you know what it means. In the middle of beauty, I found your home and I met you. When I left the Hollow, I found that what I had wanted before no longer held the possibility of satisfaction for me, if it ever did. Instead I wanted this place … with you. And I think that you felt similarly when it came to me.”

“I did. Yes, I let you into my house because I was lonely. You chased away loneliness that night, but not just that night. Since then, I can banish it by thinking of you. And then you returned. But I told you before …”

“You told me that you didn’t deserve to be happy, and I say that’s wibble. I know the truth, and it’s not right that you’re denied happiness for someone else’s schemes.”

“How did you …” Scott sighed. “Stiles.”

“He wants only the best for you.”

Scott glanced away. “And you believe that’s you?”

“I do.”

“Modest.”

“I am not a modest person,” Theo said. “I’ll let you be modest for both of us.”

Scott didn’t answer, but he reached out with one hand and grabbed Theo’s. It was beyond a gesture of friendliness. Theo had been acting so direct, focused on his plan that it coming to fruition took him by surprise. 

“Should we go back inside?” Theo asked, suddenly shy. 

The stars were bright in the sky, dancing around the full moon, as the villagers dance inside. 

“No,” Scott decided. “I wish to go home.”

Theo let Scott pull him away from the fire and down the road. Dark was the path, especially as the lights of the Martin House dwindled behind them. Yet Theo could find his way easily with only the full moon shone down upon the road. He suddenly felt as if he were in a dream, but this is what he had planned, wasn’t it? Why would success make his heart race?

Euphoria guided his steps until he heard Scott draw in a breath and drop the hand he had been holding. Theo, shaken out of his reverie, looked to where Scott was staring, jaw tightening as if confronting danger. 

There was a woman standing in the middle of the road, swathed in black. It was the same woman that Theo had seen in the graveyard and on the south road, but now she was swathed in black fur against the cold and she confronted them.

“Who are you?” 

“What are you doing here?” Scott demanded as he took a step forward, but his tone indicated that he recognized her. “What do you want?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t see?” The woman replied. She possessed a slight French accent. “Did you think you could fool me?”

“No one tried to fool you,” Scott said sternly, “Victoria.”

The woman moved forward and the light from the moon shone through the mourning veil and onto her face. It was sharp and cruel and hard, and ravaged by grief. 

“If you thought I was unaware of this new opportunity, you were mistaken.” She spat. “I have nothing but time to watch you, Scott McCall. For the rest of my life, nothing but time for you.”

Theo felt the menace in her voice. She sounded like a madwoman, hands clasped behind her back. 

“Say your piece.” Scott might have folded before her wrath at the graveyard, but he wasn’t doing so now. 

“I should say that I’m glad you aren’t ruining the life of another young woman, but this?” She sneered lightly. “How bestial, and a beast you remain.”

“What I do is no longer your concern, Madame Argent.” 

“Oh, but it is, for as long as my heart beats alone. You stole my life, and I have no satisfaction for it. Yet I think I shall find some satisfaction tonight?” 

Every nerve in Theo’s body suddenly felt like it was on fire. He was putting the pieces of the mystery together and his hands clenched, as if his greatest fear might materialize out of the darkness. 

And it did, for Victoria Argent brought up her left hand, and in it was an oilskin-clad journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Wibble_ is a Colonial curse word for bad drink , used like we would use _bullshit_.


	6. Purify the Heart

“What is that?” Scott’s eyes were drawn to the oilskin packet in Victoria Argent’s hand. He had been taken entirely by surprise, and his voice reflected genuine puzzlement. 

“I would imagine it is a mystery,” Victoria Argent replied, her voice cutting like a knife through the cold night air. From the mountain above them, a gust of wind ruffled the black fur of her wrap, bringing to mind the movements of a stalking panther. “I would imagine it is a secret.”

Theo felt himself trembling, but not out of fear. Leashed rage traveled down the bones of his arms, a type of anger only felt when someone unworthy of his time pulled a knife. He calculated he could snatch the packet out of her hands. He was absolutely sure of that, but he had no idea what he would do — what he _could_ do — afterward to salvage the situation. 

“Madame Argent,” Scott spoke as if he were confronting an angry animal. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. You realize your behavior must seem very strange to Master Raeken. Perhaps we can meet tomorrow?”

“Master Raeken has full understanding of what I hold in my hands. After all, he is the one who took pains to conceal it from you.” She took a step toward the pair of them, eyes glittering feverishly. “I watched him as he buried it by the side of the road. Foolishly, he assumed it was safe. I dug it up only a little later.”

“Why would you do such a thing?” Theo accused. “Do you lurk in the woods and spy on everyone who passes near your home? What do you think such behavior says about you?”

“I consider it grace that God has given a wounded mother.” Victoria seemed nonplussed by his scorn. “It was indeed luck that I was outside on the day you saw me in the graveyard, but it was not luck when I noticed the change you made to this man, who is my enemy. I saw him, for the first time, forget what he had done while in your company, and from then on, I kept my eyes open for your return.”

“You are mad.”

“I am wronged!” She virtually shrieked. “And I have the charge to avenge the sins committed against me.”

Scott reached out a hand, more seeking to comfort the woman than to intimidate her. “I have always told you that you are welcome to hate me for the rest of our lives for what happened, but, Madame Argent, Theo wasn’t present during the events that took her away from us. You do him wrong to involve him in our troubles.”

“The spirit he brings to your eyes is reason enough for my ire to be kindled against him, McCall. As I have said before, you shall not enjoy what was denied my daughter, not life, not peace, and certainly not _love._”

Scott’s face crumpled as if Victoria had smashed it with a maul and Theo’s anger boiled over. “In God’s name, woman, you are crazed. I have heard the story of your daughter’s death, plain and true, and it is only by your family’s wickedness that your daughter found her fate. I can scarcely believe that you have spent so many years tormenting another soul in order to assuage your own guilt.”

Victoria took a step back. She was unused to someone confronting her in that way. 

Theo did not give her time to recover. “If I understand the matter right, you have accosted us here in the middle of the night for some petty need to suffocate the joy out of my friend. Well, you’ll fail tonight, and if I have anything to say about it, you will fail for many nights to come.”

Scott looked back at him and his face was unreadable. 

“I have no fear that will occur,” Victoria spat and hefted the journal as if it were a weapon, “for you have to answer for this.”

“No, I do not.” Theo enunciated clearly and without hesitation. “It is not mine.”

“I saw you bury it.” 

“Prove it, Madame Argent. Explain to the magistrate that you just happened to be watching in the woods when someone you barely knew buried something in the dirt that you felt had to be unearthed. Yet, it does not have my name upon it. No one in this village has seen me with it. Even so, tell me if you could prove it was mine, what tale lies within that would paint me in a bad light?” Theo played this game carefully, so he kept his voice accusatory.

“I do not know what it says,” Victoria responds. “I can only guess what these numbers and names mean, yet I don’t need to take it to the magistrate, do I? I was thinking, instead, that I would take it to Major Parrish.”

That outcome Theo could not allow. His eyes slid to the side of the path, where he spotted a good-sized rock. It would do, but how could he manage it with Scott standing almost between them?

It turned out that he would never need to know the answer to that question. Scott, who had fallen quiet during the whole conversation, lunged forward and snagged the journal, oilskin and all, out of Victoria’s hands. She cried out and clawed at his face, her nails gouging bloody trails down his cheek. Scott did not let go of his prize, even as she tried to wrestle the book away from him.

Forgoing the rock, Theo came up behind her, got one arm around her throat and the other around her waist, immobilizing the angry mother. 

“Unhand me!” 

Scott wiped the blood from the cuts on his face, and he took a step back. “You won’t do anything with this, Victoria, but you should go home. It’s cold tonight, and you’ll catch a chill if you wander the fields alone.”

Theo tightened his arms to emphasize Scott’s point. The woman was so focused on Scott and her fury so profound that he could almost feeling it in her veins, so she wasn’t aware of the danger she was in. All it would take would be a sharp twist, and the threat she posed would go away.

“Theo, release her. She’s not going to hurt either of us.”

The Argent woman struggled against him, but she was not his match in strength. “She hurt you.” 

“Theo.” 

At the insistent command in Scott’s voice, Theo reluctantly released her. He would have felt better if she lost the ability to ever threaten either of them again. But he let her go, nonetheless, chuffing in irritation. 

Victoria glared at both of them, straightened her clothing, and walked off with as much dignity as she could muster down the road towards the village. The pair of them watched her go. In her black dress, she stood clear against the snow until she reached a certain point, and then she vanished into the night.

Theo turned to Scott. Now that the immediate danger had subsided, now that his instincts had stopped demanding he act decisively to end a threat, he was at a loss. He hadn’t imagined this possibility, so he wasn’t prepared. 

Scott was not looking at him. He wasn’t looking at the journal in his hand, either. He was looking at the path that led to his cottage. “Let’s go.” He started walking without waiting for Theo’s response.

There was no choice, not for Theo. He followed along quietly. 

The first thing that Scott did when they entered the cottage was build up the fire. The cottage was cooler than normal at the time of their arrival, mostly because Scott hadn’t been there for hours, and the fire had died to almost nothing. As he went to stoke it, he laid the journal on the table, carelessly, and grabbed a few logs to put on the fire.

Theo stood with his back nearly at the door. He still hadn’t thought out some sort of strategy. Instead, his eyes had been locked on the journal. Why hadn’t he destroyed it? 

He already knew the answer to that question. He had been hedging his bets. He hadn’t committed fully to a new life, no matter how happy the thought of it had made him. If it hadn’t worked out, if he hadn’t found a place, he wanted to have a fall back plan. 

And what was wrong with that? he asked himself. Beacon Hollow had been a huge risk for Theo. If weeks had passed and he had felt lonely and frustrated and, worst of all, denied, he could not have gone home empty handed. He certainly could not have gone back to Fort Carillon without something to show for his efforts.

These excuses were feeble. Theo gritted his teeth so hard he thought that he heard one of them crack. Not a single human being received guarantees in their life, and to be brave, which he told himself he was, meant they had to take chances to get what they desired, to get who they desired, and if they were rejected, they would have to deal with those consequences. Yet, he hadn’t wanted to be like everyone else — he wanted to get what he wanted and, in the end, not risk anything. He was still Molsem.

He sniffled miserably. He told himself it was just the cold. 

“What is in the package?” Scott asked without turning around from the hearth. He was holding a cloth to the place where Victoria had scratched him.

“It’s a journal.” 

“Your journal?”

Theo cursed the blunder he had made when he had confirmed Victoria’s accusation out in the snow. “Yes.”

Scott sighed, and then reached for a kettle with his free hand. It must still have had water on it, for he hung it on a hook over the fire. “I’m going to make myself some tea. Do you want a cup?”

A strange awful stillness filled the air, like a meadow before the arrival of a storm. Theo went and sat down at the table. He didn’t have anything else to do or to say. His mind was numb. 

“Victoria Argent is Allison’s mother, but I suspect you have figured that out.” Scott began slowly. “She lost her daughter -- her only child -- and she blames me.”

“The story I heard—”

“I am not under any delusion about what really happened, and I’m sure that Stiles told you the full truth, but there are sometimes things more important than plain facts. Allison and I fought — we fought very hard — to be together. Victoria, more often than not, was our opponent, and to be fair, I know it was only because she imagined so many things happening to her daughter, because of who we were to each other. Neither of us foresaw Allison dying because she loved me.”

“Allison Argent died because Gerard Argent shot her. I may feel sorry for her mother …” The lie tasted good in Theo’s mouth even as he said it. “But I’ll be damned if she possesses the right to ruin your life as some form of balance.”

“No. I don’t want to talk about Victoria anymore.”

“But we are. You see, I’ve known people who do terrible things to other people in order to make the world pay for something it did to them.” His father’s face flashed before his eyes. “It’s easier than you might think to take those actions. But as long as I’m around, she won’t get to heal her wounds by causing you pain.”

“Why shouldn’t she? If it’s something I—”

“Because you wouldn’t let her do it to me. You wouldn’t let her do it to _anyone._” Theo interrupted Scott, harsher than he had planned. 

The kettle began to hiss and Scott poured a cup of tea for both of them. Then he sat down on the other side of the table, regarding Theo thoughtfully.

“What tribe are you from?” Scott asked after he took a sip of tea.

Theo started coughing violently. The question had come out of nowhere, and in his surprise he had breathed hot tea into his lungs. He coughed and coughed, his face turning red. Scott immediately got up from his chair and came around, patting him on the back.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I should have waited.”

Wiping the tears from his eyes — the tears that had only come from the coughing fit. “You didn’t say anything that morning.”

“Why would I?”

“You must have heard me speak in my sleep.”

“Yeah. It didn’t take long for me to figure things out. Lydia—”

“Miss Martin knows!”

“No.” Scott sat back down, shaking his head. “No, she doesn’t. I just gave her a few words. She may be a polyglot, but she could only recognize it as an Algonquin language. I didn’t know why you didn’t tell me, especially when you knew that I had native blood as well, but I guess you had other secrets, too. What’s in the journal?”

Theo looked at tea cooling in the cup before him. His wits had deserted him, and he didn’t know what to say. To stall, he ran a finger along the edge of the cup.

“Are you a spy?”

Scott’s eyes held no condemnation, but they did hold determination. He wanted the truth, and he wanted it from Theo. 

“I … was.”

Swallowing, Scott gestured for him to go on. 

“I’m not full-blooded English. I was born among the Penobscot, and so I served the tribe by being a scout for the French. But, Scott, you have to believe me …” He had to make Scott see that what he had done wasn’t a ruse. Everything, when it came to him, had been sincere.

Scott looked at him with those eyes, and all Theo saw was understanding. With a single fluid motion, Scott tossed the journal into the hearth. It burst into flame, the paper burning brightly. The leather gave off quite a stink. 

Both of them watched until it became ashes. 

“What now?” 

“I don’t know you, Theo. I think … I still want to know you, but you’ve told me so many stories that aren’t true, I think we need to start from scratch.”

Theo nodded. “I …” 

“It’s late. I think that you should go home now.”

The words held the notes of finality. Theo stood, got his coat, and left the cottage. 

Theo didn’t go back to the Whittemore’s immediately. He didn’t go back to the Martin dance. He wandered through the woods until dawn.

**~*~**

Theo didn’t see Scott for three weeks. It was only what he expected and what he chose to do. He gave the north road a wide berth and he did not go into town, not for church and not even to spend time at the tavern with the friends he had made.

Instead, he hunted. He went out every morning and would return to the manor loaded with game. He went out into the first blizzard of the season, and he came back with a brace of ptarmigans. His behavior was noted; on the second day of the storm, Squire Whittemore ordered him to stay home.

That day, he sat in his room and read Robert Burton. 

It was the morning of the solstice and he was sitting in the kitchen with the cook. She had made him a good breakfast, but he picked at it. He did drink the tea that was put before him, because he would be cold when he went out.

The maid came down to see him. “Theo,” she called, “there’s someone at the front door for you.”

“Thank you.” There was only one person he wanted to see, so he drained his cup in one gulp. He got up and ignored the cook clucking her tongue over his half-eaten breakfast. 

It was not who he had hoped it was. “Master Stilinski.”

The man was wrapped from head to toe against the cold weather, so only his eyes and the tip of his nose were visible. “I’m told,” he complained, “that I should allow you to call me Stiles now.”

“You … should?”

“We are to be friends, I have also been told. I never made any of my friends here in Beacon Hollow say my real name when we were young, so it is a badge of identification, in a way. Scott calls me Stiles even though he learned how to say my real name a decade ago. So you have permission to call me Stiles.”

“Very well then. Stiles, what can I do for you today?”

“Theo — your real name is Theo, right?”

Theo swallowed. Scott told Stiles at least some of what he had learned. He should have realized that Scott would do exactly that.

“Yes, it is.”

“Then, Theo, are you engaged in labor by Squire Whittemore this morning?”

Theo shook his head. He had been so obsessive about hunting during the last few weeks that he had nothing really to do. 

“Then grab a warm coat and a hat, you are coming with me. No arguments.”

There were no arguments. They marched out into the frozen snow, the sun peeking out only momentarily from dark gray clouds. Most people would use a sleigh at this time of year, but it seemed that Stiles had walked here. It didn’t take long for Theo to figure out why. They started up the North Road, heading into the woods. It was slower going in the winter, as the stone-stepped stairs were now icy. 

Eventually though, they came close to Scott’s cottage.

Theo stopped, because he couldn’t help it. He had wanted to come here, but he had been firm with himself. He had ached to come here, but he couldn’t, not without permission.

“What is wrong with you?” Stiles turned to him on the road.

“We’re going to Scott’s cottage, aren’t we?”

Stiles eyes went back and forth in annoyance. “Where else would we be going?”

“I shouldn’t.” Theo said. “I don’t know …”

“Look, Scott asked me to bring you to our special time, and as unfeeling to our friendship as that is, I have no right to defy him … considering I insisted last year that it be opened up to Lydia. So continue to march.”

Theo followed him as he stormed up the path. “Your special time.”

“The first year that Scott and his mother moved to our town was rough for both of us. My mother had died, and I was a boy alone with his grief. His father was at sea, and the home he had known was far away. We almost didn’t become friends, but with the good foresight that is part of my reputation, I, essentially, bullied him into it.”

“You did.” Theo allowed himself a smirk.

“I did, to the betterment of all. We decided we would be friends forever on this exact day, twelve years ago. We made a pact.”

The snow crunched beneath their feet. Theo hopped over the low fence, while Stiles walked to the entrance, possibly not trusting his natural grace in this instance.

“We had lost too many things in our lives, and we promised each other that we would always be friends, and that friendship would never be lost. No matter how stupid we acted or how angry we got or how dire the sins we had committed against each other were, we would always be friends. So each day, on this, the shortest day of the year, we do the same thing we did on that day.”

The cottage stood there as it always did with the tell-tale sign of smoke rising from the chimney. A woman’s laugh sounded from it, and Lydia took a few steps out onto the pond. She glided over the ice.

“You played shinny?” Theo asked.

“Oh, no. Scott and I were far too uncoordinated to do something that required that much talent. We did eventually manage to learn to skate.”

Theo had seen people ice skating in Quebec. He had never done it himself. His tribe played shinny without tying blades to their feet. 

“I know that look,” smiled Stiles. “This is going to be fun. Try not to break any bones.” He left him then and went over to where Lydia was standing. She held a pair of skates in his hand.

“Hello.” Scott’s voice sounded next to him. He had two pairs of skates in his hands. “Would you want to join us?” 

Theo hesitated. He tried to find a clue to Scott’s intentions in his face, but there was no hidden message, no demands, no conditions. A simple question to be answered simply.

“Yes.” It was the only answer, really. “Yes, I would.”

“Have you done this before?”

“No.” He really hadn’t. 

Scott pointed to a rock. “Sit down. It’s really important to get the ties right. It doesn’t matter how light you are on your feet, if your foundation’s not firm, you’re going to fall down.” Theo did as he was told.

He had a good view at the top of Scott’s head as the man bent over his feet. In the distance, Stiles had come out on the ice and was far less graceful than Lydia was. He smiled. 

He almost didn’t hear it when Scott whispered to him, not raising his head. “No more lies, Theo.”

“I can’t promise that,” Theo replied. 

Scott looked up at him.

“People lie to each other all the time, or are you going to tell me that you told Stiles and Lydia that you were letting that woman torment you?” Theo asked seriously. “You didn’t, and you made up lies to cover that omission. Look at those two.”

Scott followed Theo’s gaze where they were slowly circling each other on the ice. 

“Do you think that Lydia’s never lied to Stiles? Or Stiles to her? When people love each other, they’re going to lie. When they’re tired and crabby, when they don’t think they can listen to another word coming out of the other person’s mouth, when they grow old and one of them feels the approach of death, they’re going to lie to each other, because they love each other, because they want to protect each other.”

Scott looked up at him and Theo reached out hesitantly and touched the side of his face. 

“I will promise to lie to you for only those reasons.” 

Standing slowly, Scott stretched out his hand. “Fair enough.”

Theo took the hand and Scott pulled him to his feet. With careful steps they got on the ice.

“You need to start slowly,” Scott began. “Trust me, I know.”

After a few very clumsy tries, Theo got the hang of it. Of them all, Lydia was the best skater, with Scott and Stiles keeping their feet most of the time. After an hour or so, Theo could be trusted to make a circuit of the pond by himself. Stiles thought it was completely unfair.

It began to snow, very lightly at first, great fat flakes drifting through the black branches of the trees, chasing each other like a pack of puppies. It landed on everyone’s hat and their hair. Theo brushed a few flakes out of Scott’s lashes. 

“So, all we do is go is round and round in a circle, one after another,” he joked.

“Well, once we’re thoroughly cold we’ll go inside and have hot cider and lunch, then we’ll tell stories. Stiles has some good ones. I’m sure you’ll have some to.”

“I do, but I shouldn’t tell them all.”

Scott raised an eyebrow. 

“If I stick around here, I won’t have any new stories, and what will I do next year?”

“You’ll tell the same stories.” 

“Won’t that get boring?” 

“I don’t think so. I think it’ll mean to you what it means to us.” Scott raised a hand to catch a snowflake. “That you’re home.”

Theo put an arm around Scott’s shoulders. “A home. I’ve never wanted that.”

“But you needed it,” Scott answer. “Because you’re just like everyone else.”

Above the hollow in the mountains, the sun burst out from a gray bank of clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robert Burton is best known for his work _The Anatomy of Melancholy_, one of the first fictional works to grapple with depression as a phenomenon.
> 
> _Shinny_ is a corruption of the Scottish word _shinty._ The Penobscot played this form of hockey on ice, but without blades, but I couldn't find the name in Abenaki.

**Author's Note:**

> I welcome all criticism as long as it is focused on the characters, plot, cultural sensitivity, and writing of this story. Please don't bring in my other works or commentary. I especially appreciate having typos and grammatical mistakes pointed out.


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